


Bear Hugs

by ddacat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Original Character(s), Original villain - Freeform, Personal Growth, Self-Discovery, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 84,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddacat/pseuds/ddacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants to avenge her parents. But amid all the strange things that have been happening in Beacon Hills, the only people who can help her are the exact ones who avoid her, the ones who are right in the middle of everything. And then everything literally bursts into flames. [End of season 4 to now] [Liam x OC]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calaveras

_↣All the other kids with the pumped up kicks↢_

_↣You better run, better run, outrun my gun↢_

  

* * *

**Chapter 1 ➵ Calaveras**

* * *

 

Before the door came down, she'd almost thought she was prepared. Almost thought they could all make it. Then the heavy cherry wood that once represented safety and warmth crashed to the tiled floor and Sherry'd never felt so scared in her life. Through the rising cloud of splinters, a swarm of searing mercenaries burst in. Watching through the veil of a draping cotton tablecloth, Sherry felt someone squeeze her hand. Her father crouched behind her, his face pale with fright.

  
“Come out, you traitors!” a thug bellowed. He was gaunt, so much so that Sherry saw the sharp angles of his shoulders and cheekbones even through the cotton veneer. His voice was tinged with a slight Mexican accent, and slammed like a load of bricks on Sherry's nerves. “We know you’re in here! If you give up now, we'll consider making your death a smidge less painful!”

  
Sherry clenched a hand over her mouth, not daring to breathe. Her father trembled, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering a nearly inaudible Buddhist prayer under his breath.

  
The booted footsteps of the men loomed nearer to their hiding spot. The rubber soles squeaked on the polished floor and left dirty prints across the glossy wood finish.

  
The bony man spoke again, a vicious lilt in his barking. “Would you rather die a quick death or have us seal up the house and drop in a gas bomb? I assure you, with the second, you’ll be asphyxiated for hours before you finally kill yourselves.” When neither moved, the man began to count. “Ten. Nine.”

  
“I love you,” Sherry whispered. At once, her father let go of her hand. Her heart plummeted. “What?”

He wiped his eyes shakily. “I love you.”

“Six. Five.”

“I want you to live, okay? I’ll see you again someday.” He edged toward the cloth wall.

Sherry shook her head soundlessly. Something wet and warm splattered onto her knees.

“As soon as I’m out,” he rushed, “I’ll distract them. Run.”

“One. Zero.”

Sherry wanted to pull her dad back. They could go down together. But he’d already disappeared to the other side of the tablecloth.

“You’ll rue the day your wife decided to turn herself in to the police," the man crowed. "Restrain him.”

“You’re all sick,” Sherry’s father spat. Through the tablecloth, Sherry saw him struggling and fighting. He swung at his captors, kicking and flailing with all the desperate valor of a man who knew he was going to die.

He was causing a commotion, she realized a little late. For her. Suddenly determined not to let her father die in vain, Sherry slipped out the other side of the table cloth and crawled quickly over the cold kitchen tiles, out of the room. She hid behind the corner of the kitchen’s wall. Surveying the house around her, she saw that all first floor entries and exits were barricaded by the khaki-clad ruffians. Hyperventilating, she gulped and backed away.

Her forearm rammed into something hard and round. Turning around slowly, she almost laughed. Of course. The bottom stair.

“Where’s the kid?” a voice interjected from the other room. Sherry's father let out a muffled shout of denial.

“Try under the table!" another man suggested.

The squeak of boots grew louder. She was trapped. Sherry glanced up the staircase and swallowed. In an instant, she bolted up the stairs, miraculously avoiding slipping and falling. She was at the second floor, safe for the moment, but what could she do now? She ran into her bedroom, the farthest room at the end of the hall, and silently locked the door shut. She had the advantage here, but she couldn't immediately think of any weapons she could use to her advantage. No kung fu weapons here, no BB guns, no metal rods. The window overlooked her driveway, which swarmed with black SUV’s and motorbikes.

Thumps echoed up the stairs. Sherry yanked open the sliding pane of the window and punched out the bug screen. She picked up her Lego model of a pink castle and set it on her desk, clearing her way to stand on the sill. It was a vestibule of her princess phase, a gradient of gray at the bottom, white at the midline, and pink at the top towers. She'd been too lazy the last few years to put it away.

There was a pounding on a door closer to the stairs.

She stared at the castle and blinked. Legos. They wouldn't do much to boot-protected feet, but at least they would form a temporary distraction.

Jittery with terror, she swung open her closet and pulled a box of modeling clay from the top shelf. Quickly, fumbling, she spread the clay over her bedroom floor, making a decently thick layer in front of the door. Then she extracted a sewing kit from her nightstand, a box she'd never touched till now. She pulled needles from the kit, sticking them pointy side up in the clay.

Scrambling to her desk, she lifted the castle high above her head and smashed it on her wooden floor. The gray, pink, and white pieces shattered across the floor and the men outside began to bellow. She scooped the pieces feverishly over the clay, making a thin cover for the needles.

Gulping, she raced to pull herself onto the window sill and shimmied out into the open air. She hopped onto the roof’s shingles and closed the window behind her. Then she jumped.

The landing onto concrete was excruciating, a paralyzing shock zapping her legs. Sherry winced and propelled herself forward, careening off the driveway and down the street. She didn’t stop running, even after the agonized howls upstairs and the gunshots that echoed off the pavement.


	2. Loners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherry meets the general unfriendliness of Beacon Hills.

_↣_ _Goodbye to all my friends at home_ _↢_

_↣_ _Goodbye to people I've trusted_ _↢_

_↣_ _I've got to go out and make my way_ _↢_

_↣_ _I might get rich you know I might get busted_ _↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 2 ➵ Loners**

* * *

 

"Pair up!" Mr. Lewis ordered. "And no talking."

Sherry glanced around the AP Chemistry class, sighing. She tightened her grip on her backpack strap and headed toward the lanky teacher.

"Hi. I'm new."

Mr. Lewis pushed his spectacles lower on his nose, peering over them to look at her. "Well, I'm afraid you're in the wrong classroom. This is AP Chem."

"I know." She handed him her schedule.

He raised a bushy eyebrow skeptically. "Aren't you a freshman?" His head shot up to glare at two boys talking in the back. "I  _said, don't talk!_  McCall, you're paired with Mr. Walden over there."

The boys began to complain. "That's completely unfair!" one of them blurted, waving his arms.

Mr. Lewis squinted at him. "One more word, Stilinski, and I'll send you to the office."

He groaned and scooted his chair away from his friend.

Returning to Sherry, Mr. Lewis sighed. "You'll need a lab partner. We're starting a titration lab." He bellowed to the silent classroom, "Which loner doesn't have a partner?!"

Stilinski, still whispering to his friend, sunk deeper into his desk and raised his hand meekly.

"Meet- uh," the teacher held Sherry's schedule up close to his spectacles. "Cherry Ming. Get acquainted." He pressed the schedule back into Sherry's hand. "Start!"

The class erupted into motion. She gulped and wove her way to the back of the classroom, where a sour-looking Stilinski was continuing his conversation with McCall.

"Hi," she started. He didn't notice her. "Hi! Um, Stilinski? Hello?"

McCall saw her first. He tapped his friend's shoulder and pointed. Stilinski jumped at the sight of her. "Who are you?"

"What?" she asked, confused. "Didn't you hear? Mr. Lewis said we're lab partners."

He blinked. "Who are you?"

At this point, Sherry was fairly annoyed. "My name is Sherry. I'm new. I'm your lab partner."

He still looked suspicious. "Okay. Anyway," he turned back to his friend, "About what happened-"

"Hey!" Sherry bit out. "I might be new, and look twelve, but I'd like to get a good grade in this class, thanks."

He sighed. "Fine. Alright. Let's start."

Smugly, Sherry pulled over the nearest empty desk and sat in it. "What's your name?"

"Stiles."

"Stiles?"

He bent over his backpack, searching for a pencil. "Don't question it."

"What are we supposed to be doing?"

Having found his pencil, Stiles began scribbling on a sheet of lined paper. "Um, design a lab." He shoved over a piece of paper. "These are the instructions."

She read them. She started writing down the materials and procedure on the paper in front of her, certain that Stiles was too oblivious to actually contribute. After five minutes or so, Stiles asked, "How old are you?"

"Why does it matter? I'm smarter than you."

He paused. "Okay, I'll pretend I'm not offended. But how old are you? You're not a junior, are you?"

"I'm fourteen. I'm a freshman," she relented. She scratched out a line. "One or two grams of sodium hydroxide?"

"Why are you here?"

"My old school went a lot faster," she answered.

"No, I mean, why did you move?"

She lifted her eyes from the paper and glared at him. "You know, usually I'm nice. But I don't particularly like people who pry into my personal life."

"You don't have to be so touchy about it," he whined.

The bell rang. Stiles shot up out of his seat, snatching his backpack and preparing to dash.

Mr. Lewis announced, "If you didn't finish the pre-lab, just know that you'll need it done by the time class starts tomorrow."

Sherry rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not working on this by myself. We're meeting after school."

Stiles looked crestfallen.

 

➵➵➵

 

"Hello!"

Stiles rocketed into the air. "What the- holy frick!" His group of friends stared at Sherry with curiosity. McCall from earlier was there, as well as three girls and a freshman boy.

"Ready for chemistry?"

Stiles looked shaken. "Did you hear our conversation?"

"No?" She noticed the brunette girl regarding her warily. "I just got here. Can we meet for the lab at your place?"

He scratched his neck uncertainly. "I guess."

She beamed. "Great! Let's go now!"

"N-now?"

"Is there a problem?"

Stiles looked back at his friends. McCall shrugged helplessly. He sighed. "Alright, let's go."

It took Stiles and Sherry five minutes to drive from school to his house in his rickety Jeep. Sherry spread their chemistry papers onto the kitchen table, making herself at home.

"My dad won't be home for a few hours," Stiles said.

Sherry didn't care. "Just write what I tell you to write, okay?"

He pressed his lips together. "Right."

The table, besides for the lab papers, was cluttered with all sorts of documents. Manila folders were open, stuffed with stacks of official forms. Stiles tried to brush them aside discretely, moving stray papers into folders and closing them. Sherry didn't say anything.

"Are you ever gonna tell me why you moved?"

"My dad was murdered," she said with a clipped tone. "And my mom is in prison."

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah."

"My mom died, too."

"Is your dad in jail?" she retorted.

"Not as far as I'm aware," he joked.

She growled and pressed the pencil into the paper until the lead snapped. "Let's just work, okay?"

 

➵➵➵

 

After an hour or so, Stiles' phone rang. He answered it. "You think  _what?_ Okay, okay! I'll be right over there." Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Stiles gave Sherry a barely apologetic look. "Gotta go." He grabbed his jacket and raced out of the house.

"Wait!" Sherry called. His Jeep backed out of the driveway. "You're my ride," she muttered. "Ugh."

Standing up, she stretched her legs and pushed away the mostly-done lab report. Stiles had barely done any of it, having spent most of the time checking his phone for updates. She scanned the room for anything interesting. If she had to spend who-knows-how-long waiting for either Stiles or his dad to come back, she might as well do some exploring.

Besides for the manila folders and documents, the kitchen was plain, albeit messy. She wandered up the stairs, hoping for something to distract her. The first room appeared to be Stiles' bedroom. It was neat and clean, with a steel gray comforter on the bed and a few band posters on the walls. But what caught Sherry's eye was not the poster of one of her favorite bands, but a sizable clear board suspended by a wooden stand. Similar to a portable whiteboard, the side opposite Sherry was plastered with newspaper clippings, photographs, and stripes of colored tape. As she got closer to examine it, she noticed that it looked almost like detective work. Similar articles and pictures were linked together with tape, all of it criss-crossing to appear like a web.

"Kate Argent Identified as Hale Arsonist" was stuck in the center. Rays of tape branched off from there, one link connecting to Kate Argent's obituary. Another article detailed a family totaled by an axe murderer, which led to a story about the sole survivor falling into a cannibalistic rage that ended in his own death.

She shivered, appalled by the strangeness of whatever Stiles was trying to solve. More and more clippings boasted grotesque incidents and events. Mugshot-like photos of scary people were tied to various events. In the blank spaces, Stiles had scribbled question marks and notes, like "Who is the Benefactor?"

A cluster in the corner caught Sherry's eye. In dry-erase marker, Stiles had labeled the section "The Calaveras". The photos taped to the board depicted haughty-looking people who appeared to be hunters. They had khaki vests and fancy weapons like guns and cattle prods strapped to their backs. One of them had startlingly familiar taut skin and poky cheekbones. His deep-set eyes made him seem almost pleased with himself.

Sherry backed away, her breath lodged in her throat. The face of the man who'd killed her father was one she'd never forget.


	3. Prevarications

_↣So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked↢_

_↣One maniac at a time we will take it back↢_

_↣You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start↢_

_↣So dance alone to the beat of your heart↢_

 

* * *

  **Chapter 3 ➵ Prevarications**

* * *

 

 

The pre-lab was stuffed into her cargo-style backpack, finished and ready for tomorrow's class. Sherry scrolled aimlessly through her phone. Logged into a fake Facebook account, she read her old friends' recent posts. Most of them related to her, asking publicly if anyone knew what happened to Sherry Ming. No one from her old life had any clue where she was now or why she'd deleted all of her social media accounts and changed her phone number. She turned off her phone and rested her forehead on her folded arms.

A door opened, its hinges squealing. A middle-aged man stepped into the room his pink skin contrasting with the tan sheriff's uniform. He did a double-take when he saw the girl sitting in his kitchen.

"Sheriff?" Sherry exclaimed, her eyes widening. "You're Stiles's dad?" The discovery of Stiles's detective board made more sense in context.

"You know my son?" The sheriff was equally as surprised. "I thought Parrish said you're two years younger than him."

Her lips curled up. "I'm ahead. Stiles ditched me while I was working on a project. Can you drive me home?"

"Did Stiles say why he left?"

She debated whether it was her business to tell. "Not really. Someone called him," she allowed. "Something happened, I guess, so he just ran off."

Furrows appeared on the sheriff's forehead. "Hm."

"Anyway," Sherry continued, "I dunno if Jordan is out of work yet. Stiles was supposed to drive me home, but obviously he isn't here. I hope it's not too much of a hassle for you to take me."

He grimaced. "That boy.... Okay," he sighed. "Let's go."

She snatched up her backpack and trotted after him. In the car, she stared out the window with her eyes drooping.

"Was today your first day at Beacon Hills High?" the sheriff questioned, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

"Yep. Kind of a coincidence that I got paired with Stiles for chem," she noted.

The sheriff chuckled. "Coincidence," he repeated derisively. "Something that happens far too often for my liking. How have you been?"

"Adjusting is a pain," she admitted.

"I can only imagine. Is Parrish getting used to you living with him?"

"As far as I can tell. He only moved here recently himself." Sherry smiled ruefully. "Sorry, I generally think of, um, Parrish as my Uncle Jordan who I met once when I was six. Or that's what my mom used to tell me, at least."

The was silence for the rest of the drive. When the sheriff stopped in front of her new home, he disclosed, "Just for the record, Sherry, I don't believe your mother deserved that prison sentence."

She climbed out of the car unsteadily. "She did everything she said she did at the trial. She's guilty," Sherry insisted.

The sheriff's eyes flickered away. "Of course."

She shut the door and plodded to the house. How did he suspect that Sherry's mother wasn't as guilty as she claimed? When she stepped inside, Parrish's voice called, "I have takeout!"

Grinning, Sherry dropped her bag on the floor and hurried over. Parrish was bent over a plate of yellow curry. The tangy scent made her mouth water. She plopped into the chair across from her uncle and filled her plate with samosas and curry.

"You were working on a project or something, right?" Parrish asked.

"A pre-lab. Hey, Jordan," she started, "Who is Kate Argent?"

He paused in the middle of rubbing a spot of curry off his tan uniform, his eyebrows shooting up. He looked up slowly to meet her curious gaze. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Some newspaper article," she said, sweeping her brown hair behind her shoulders. "It mentioned that she was the Hale arsonist. What does that mean?"

Parrish tried to dissolve his tense expression. "She's just a crazy criminal. She burned down a house filled with people seven years ago. She was killed last year."

"Oh. That's it?"

Her uncle's reassuring smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothing else is worth knowing."

Pushing on, she asked, "Have you heard of the Calaveras? Do you know who they are?"

Parrish narrowed his eyes. "What newspaper did you get this from, again?"

She twisted her fingers under the table. "I forget. So?"

"Haven't heard of them."

  
➵➵➵

 

Sherry stuffed her hands into the woolly pockets of her sweater and wriggled on the cold metal bleacher. Her chosen seat was at the top of the lacrosse field, right under the blinding stadium lights. From her perch, she could view the entire game, without having to crane her neck too much.

Illuminated by the floodlights, she could Beacon Hills' players, the white lettering glowing on maroon jerseys. The player with "Stilinski" on his back was sitting on the ground-level bench, talking animatedly with his friend, whose jersey read "Yukimura." McCall seemed to be in a debate with the coach, occasionally pointing to a player idling by the goal.

The coach, out of nowhere, hurled a ball at the kid, whose name Sherry could barely make out to be "Dunbar." Sherry gasped. Dunbar snatched the flying ball out of the air without even thinking. One moment before, he had been facing the opposite direction. How could he have seen the ball coming?

The players all lined up at the center of the field. The referee blew his whistle. The scrimmage had officially started.

Sherry didn't know much about lacrosse, or sports in general for that matter, but she could easily tell that these players were more than just good. McCall, Dunbar, Yukimura, and a player from the opposing school, Talbot, were all exceptionally swift and strong. Yukimura tore across the field dodging opponents and knocking them over easily. On the sidelines, Coach Finstock screamed, "Pass the ball!"

Yukimura didn't pause, instead making it all the way to the end and making a goal. The Beacon Hills fans erupted into cheers. The coach, however, motioned Yukimura over furiously. The player removed the maroon helmet, confused. Sherry was surprised. That star player was a girl.

Her black hair tumbled out of the helmet as she approached the coach in confusion. A moment later, she plodded over to the bleachers and sat down.

The game resumed. The lacrosse ball flew over heads, hopping from net to net. After a few more plays, Talbot ran and rammed into Dunbar, knocking him to the ground with a thud Sherry could almost hear. The audience let out a collective gasp.

Stiles and McCall crowded around their injured friend, grabbing his arms roughly and jerking him up. Sherry shifted in her seat, squinting down at the field to see what was going on. Was the kid hurt?

Coach Finstock ushered the boys off the field and signalled to the referee, crossing his forearms in an X repeatedly. The players were scattered, running around in confusion. Sherry scanned the field for Talbot, but he was nowhere to be found. Had he owned up to his foul and gone to see if Dunbar was alright?

A sharp whistle resounded across the stadium. "Game canceled!" the referee roared. "Go home!"

In front of her, the audience booed. A guy fully decked out in Beacon Hills gear cursed at the referee, throwing his drink down onto the stairs. As crowds stampeded up the stairs, Sherry tugged her fuzzy hat down over her ears.

Once most of the audience was gone, Sherry snuck another glance out at the field, but all was empty except for some straggling players. She sighed, picked up her bag, and headed out to the parking lot.  
➵➵➵

In chemistry the next day, Mr. Lewis shooed the class off to continue the second part of the lab. Sherry set out the equipment on the black lab bench, adjusting the height of the buret. Stiles shuffled over a moment later.

"Has anyone seen him?" he hissed to McCall. McCall's lab partner, a portly blond kid, followed behind them. Sherry passed safety goggles to each of the three boys. Stiles took his pair in his hand absentmindedly, fingering the ridges on the elastic strap.

McCall slipped his goggles onto his forehead. "Not that I know of."

To the side, she greeted the blond kid. "Hi. I'm Sherry."

"I'm Fred," he replied impassively.

Nodding over to Stiles and McCall, she noted, "It looks like we're going to have to do all the work ourselves."

"That's why I usually work alone during labs." Fred measured out a spoonful of powder and ladled it onto a small plastic plate, pointedly ignoring her.

She stopped, blinking. Was everyone in this town rude? Continuing to work, Sherry realized that the buret needed to be refilled with sodium hydroxide solution. She needed a hand. A glance over to Stiles confirmed that he was still furtively discussing something with his friend.

Gritting her teeth, Sherry tapped on Stiles' shoulder.

He made a waving motion with his hand. "Wait a sec."

Her gaze flickered over to Fred, who was fixating on the yellow suspension in his beaker, completely zoned out. She sighed, tapping on Stiles' shoulder again. "Hey."

"I said, wait a-"

"This will literally take five seconds. Do you want to pass chem or not?"

He growled, stomping his foot like a toddler. "Okay! Fine!" He lifted the buret down from the stand, keeping it at a level at which she could pour in more base. Behind him, McCall looked blankly calm but for staring distractedly at Stiles. His face was narrow and angular, his jawbone squarishly wide. It struck Sherry that he looked uncannily puppy-like.

She stopped pouring as the liquid neared the top line. Setting the jug on the table, she covered the top opening with parafilm. Stiles set it back on the stand. "Is that it?"

"Yeah." She hesitated, thinking back to last night's peculiar game. "Do you know if that player on the lacrosse team is okay?" she asked. "I saw you and your friend help him when he fell yesterday. It looked pretty bad."

For some reason, Stiles sent McCall a fleeting look before he answered, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "What? Oh, um, Liam's fine." He grinned nervously. "Right, Scott?"

So that's what his name was. Scott gazed at something in the distance. "I'm not so sure."

Stiles started, alarmed. "What do you mean, you're not sure?" He leaned forward onto the table intensely. "Did something happen?"

At this point, neither boy seemed to remember that Sherry existed. Scott's forehead furrowed in worry. He snatched his phone from his pocket and studied the screen. His eyes shot up, staring at Stiles with intensity. "Mason just texted me. Something's wrong." He spun around and threw his backpack over his shoulder, sprinting out of the classroom without a second thought.

Stiles looked back at Sherry. "I suppose you want to know what just happened?"

She tilted her head. "Well, yeah!"

He patted her head, making her feel even smaller than she already was. "We don't always get what we want."

"Can you at least explain why you ran off two days ago? I had to do the whole pre-lab by myself."

He scratched his short brown hair, letting out a sigh of thinly veiled annoyance. "Nope."

She loosened the buret stopcock, watching as the clear liquid dripped into a flask of acid. "You do know that this lab report is due on Monday, right? That means we have to finish and write it up tonight."

He faltered. "Wha- It is?"

"Yes. So we should meet after school again or sometime during the weekend."

Stiles pretended to take a glimpse at his watch. "No, sorry, I'm booked up until... always."

"Well, that sucks, because I'm completely free." A flash of pink appeared in the acid-base mixture. She tightened the stopcock again and swirled the flask in lazy circles, the color dissolving as the liquid swished up the sides of the glass.

"Great! You can finish the lab report for us!"

When the bell rang, Mr. Lewis held up a hand to silence the class. "Before you all leave, I need to make an announcement."

Stiles groaned, punching his jacket. "Every time," he muttered.

"Last night, there was an attempted assassination at the lacrosse game. One of the killers, who was masquerading as a freshman named Violet, has been detained by the police. Her partner, who goes by Garrett, was on our very own lacrosse team. He is still on the loose, so if any of you see him, make sure to call 911 or notify an adult immediately." Mr. Lewis motioned to a paper stuck by the door. "There's a picture of him and some information on that flyer."

Everyone was shocked. Sherry couldn't believe that two assassins attended her school. Wasn't her new life supposed to be safer than her last? She was startled when she saw that Stiles didn't appear surprised at all, just his mouth tensed with anxiety.

"You're free to go," Mr. Lewis finally said.  
➵➵➵

After school, she hopped onto her bike and pedaled to the sheriff's station. A familiar dented blue jeep was parked outside, neighboring Parrish's small sedan. Sherry locked her bike into the nearest rack and strolled inside the building, looking for Parrish.

He was resting on the desk in the sheriff's office, talking to two teenagers, one of whom Sherry instantly recognized. Stiles. The other one was a pretty redhead Sherry was almost certain she'd seen talking to Stiles and Scott the other day. Stiles and the girl approached Parrish, showing him a piece of paper.

Sheriff Stilinski appeared around a beige wall, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. Sherry hastened to meet him. "Sheriff!"

His eyes widened. "Sherry? Why are you here?"

She looked back at Parrish. "I meant to talk to my uncle. For my English class, I have to interview someone in a particular profession."

"I can redirect you to another officer," the sheriff suggested. "Parrish is preoccupied at the moment."

"Talking to teenagers?"

"It's important," he restated, steering her away from the office and toward one of the desks in the center of the room. "Meet Deputy Haigh."

The man stared at her. "You are?"

The sheriff returned the way he had come. Given no choice, Sherry smiled politely and stuck out her hand to shake. "Deputy Parrish's niece, sir. Sherry Ming."

The deputy shook her hand, still watching her warily. She pulled over a chair and sat down. Pulling out a notebook and pen, she said, "Do you mind answering a few interview questions for a school project?"

He reciprocated her smile, the movement not quite reaching his eyes. "Not at all."

As Sherry bombarded the deputy with questions, to which she received standard, if not automatic, answers, she kept an eye on the window of the sheriff's office. The window blinds had been drawn half-closed, but she could still make out silhouettes and the gleam of the girl's strawberry-blonde hair.

Once Deputy Haigh responded to each of Sherry's prepared questions, he dismissed her brusquely with a gruff "Get outta here."

Sherry scattered, attempting to stuff her notebook into her bag while stumbling toward the exit. At the same moment, the sheriff's door flew open. Parrish, Stiles, and the girl burst out, talking fervently. They would have rushed right past Sherry, if Stiles had not noticed her out of the corner of his eye. The boy halted, turning to point at her and blurt, "You! Freshman!"

The ginger tilted her head at Sherry curiously. Her hair was curled flawlessly, make-up and lip gloss adorning her pale face almost professionally. The raspberry locks swung like a pendulum when she paused. Parrish's green eyes widened, but he quickly recovered, his blond features relaxing. "Sherry? What are you doing here?"

"Everyone is always asking me that," she grumbled. "I came to ask you interview questions for English, but Deputy Haigh helped me out instead."

"Tell him I said thanks," Parrish answered. "I've got to go. I'll see you later." He beckoned Stiles and the girl, racing out the door.

She didn't know what to think. "Well, I'm not going back to thank the deputy," she muttered. "He was even surlier than Fred." Sherry located Sheriff Stilinski, who had taken up residence again in his office. She knocked on the door and entered before the frustrated sheriff had even allowed her permission to enter. "Do you know where my uncle is going?"

"I have no idea, kid. Go home."

"But he's your deputy!" she protested.

"Go home."

She wanted to press further, but with a glance at the sheriff's stern expression, Sherry sighed. "Alright, Sheriff. See you." She ducked out of the office.

"Have a good day." Stilinski's voice drifted into the hall.

Sherry wandered out of the building and into the clouded sunlight. She unchained her bike, watching Parrish's police cruiser and Stiles' Jeep speed into the street. As she tightened her cherrywood brown jacket buttons, she swept her dark, lank hair behind her shoulders. Unlike the rest of her day, her ride home was smooth and uninterrupted.


	4. Virulent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the PSAT comes unwanted drama.

_With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride_  
_You're toxic, I'm slipping under_  
_With a taste of a poison paradise_  
_I’m addicted to you_  
_Don’t you know that you’re toxic?_

* * *

 

**Chapter 4: Virulent**

* * *

 

Sherry stuck her tongue out at the ink, but dipped her finger in it anyway. She pressed her thumb onto the paper, leaving a black print, and dropped her cellphone into a manila envelope labeled “Cell Phone Check.” As she picked up two pencils, the redheaded proctor sent her an accommodating smile.

“Sit anywhere you’d like.”

Sherry noted the name on her laminated lanyard. “Thanks, Ms. Martin.”

Shuffling around the classroom, Sherry decided to take a seat in one of the front-row desks. The other test administrator flipped through a dense-looking research book as he stood behind the teacher’s desk, oblivious to the students entering the classroom. The line of juniors went through the same routines, stamping thumbprints and wandering nervously into the room.

She pretended not to notice the stares from other students who were clearly wondering if she was old enough to take the test. She could hear the whispers as they passed by her desk.

Familiar voices floated into the room. Sherry looked up, interested. Stiles and three of his friends were at the front of the line. Scott regarded the stamp ink uncertainly, but proceeded anyway. The other test proctor looked up and smiled almost leeringly at him.

Ms. Martin held out another manila packet. “Cell phone in the envelope, Scott. You’ll get it back after the test.”

Sherry nearly laughed when she saw what Stiles had done. He had a number-two pencil tucked behind his ear, another stuck between his teeth, and a half-dozen or so in his hand. As he and Scott passed by her, they sent her odd looks similar to those of the other students. Sherry wondered where the strawberry-blonde was. The two girls who had come with Stiles and Scott didn’t recognize her, but Sherry remembered them as part of Stiles’ clique.

Once the students had all sat down, the male proctor addressed the class. “Please do not open your test booklets until you are instructed to do so.”

Behind her, Sherry noticed Stiles sheepishly close the front cover.

“This test is two hours and ten minutes. There will be two twenty-five minute critical reading sections, two twenty-five minute math sections, and an essay-writing portion that will last thirty minutes.” His eyes traveled to Ms. Martin reprimandingly. “There are supposed to be two teachers monitoring this exam?”

Uncomfortably, she replied, “I know, it’s Coach. He’s not exactly punctual. Um, let me just try him again.” She excused herself and slipped out the door. While the class waited, Sherry stared at the proctor, unable to tear her gaze away from the gross mole by his lip and his creepy bushy brows. When Ms. Martin returned a minute or so later, she apologized, “I can’t find him, but Mr. Yukimura is upstairs grading papers. Do you want me to try him?”

The proctor was not amused. “We have to start. We can ask for his assistance during the first break.” Ms. Martin nodded. He leaned over the desk, fingering a stopwatch. “You may now,” he announced, “Open your test booklets and begin.”

Sherry flipped open the booklet and scanned the first question. Her parents had pressured her into studying over winter break and sent her to test prep boot camps. Since her mother turned herself in to the police three weeks ago, she hadn’t done studying of any sort until last night.

The first section was critical reading. Remembering her tutors’ admonishments, she turned to the last problems in the section and worked backwards from there.

Somewhere in the back of the room, a loud thump occurred. Everyone’s heads turned toward the source of the noise. Ms. Martin, her eyes wide with worry and surprise rushed over to the girl who’d fallen from her chair.

“Sydney!” she exclaimed, helping the girl stand up. “Are you alright?”

Sydney had dark eyes and dark hair. Sherry remembered her as the first student to enter the room. She had been hyperventilating before the test started, staring at the closed booklet anxiously. “Uh,” Sydney breathed, embarrassed, “I’m okay. I just… got kind of dizzy.”

Ms. Martin was still holding her wrist, staring at it in concern. “Sydney, how long have you had this?”

Sydney’s eyebrow arched in surprise as she stared at the red mark on her wrist. She shook her head, looking at Ms. Martin questioningly. “Uh, I don’t know.” Her voice trailed off.

At the front of the classroom, the other proctor was unruffled. “Ms. Martin, do I need to stop the test?”

“No! It’s- it’s fine.” She bit her lip and returned to the front, glancing around the room with her face still etched with worry.

“Everybody stay in your seats. I’ll be back in a minute.” Picking up her phone, she warned to the other proctor, “Nobody leaves the room.” She left the room and shut the door quietly behind her.

“Please continue your tests.”

Sherry stared at the “no error” problems. Because viral diseases spread so rapidly, victims being often quarantined to contain the spread of the disease. No error. After staring at the problem for a minute in disbelief, she circled “being” and moved on.

A sharp cry sounded from out in the hall. Ms. Martin. “Get back! No! Do not come in here! Get back outside!”

That was the last straw for the test-takers. Scott, Stiles, and a flood of other students, rushed outside to see what was going on. The proctor didn’t even try to hold them back. Dying to know what happened, Sherry followed the group outside. Down the hall, Ms. Martin locked the school doors, preventing anyone from getting inside the building. Dialing a number on her phone, she stared down the egressing students. “Get back to your seats. Now!” After a moment, she added, “Please.”

Sherry's eyes flicked up at Stiles and Scott, who exchanged a wary look and oozed back into the room with the rest of the juniors. With a glance back at Ms. Martin, Sherry plodded after the crowd. It went without saying that any attempts at continuing the PSAT were officially abandoned.

Back inside the classroom, all the scantrons and test booklets had been cleared from the desks. Students lounged around the classroom, chatting curiously. Stiles and the gang were loitering about a small cluster of desks. For a moment, Sherry scanned the classroom hopefully for any sight of anyone she could talk to. That was when she realized that the only person she had spoken to as of yet was Stiles. The manner in which he and his friends were knit together, their heads leaned in conspiratorially, their bodies constructing a tight circle, gave off an exclusive feel. Her stomach quailed at the thought of penetrating their social barrier, but she dreaded twiddling her thumbs in isolation even more. Something in the way the clique whispered made Sherry suspect that they might know information she didn't.

After an extended internal battle, Sherry swallowed her qualms and approached the group from Stiles' side. "Hi," she said.

Their heads turned toward her almost mechanically. The girls still appraised her skeptically, the brunette more so than the one with Japanese features, whom Sherry finally connected as Yukimura from lacrosse. Stiles shuddered, as if Sherry's sudden entrance had caught him completely off-guard. Only Scott was the least bit amicable.

"Hi," he replied, his lips curling politely. "You're Sherry, right? AP Chem?"

"Yeah," she answered, grateful for the sign of hospitality. "Do you guys know what's going on?"

"No, but I think I heard that the CDC has been called."

"CDC?"

"Center for Disease Control," Scott said. "They must be worried about a contagion or something."

A loud rap emanated from the door. Through the rectangular window embedded in the wooden door, Sherry saw something distinctly yellow and puffy. A haz-mat suit.

"They're here," Yukimura noted.

The door opened, a team of plastic-clad workers flowing into the room. One of them stepped forward, accompanied by Ms. Martin, and ushered a panic-stricken Sydney out of the room. Several other students, whose skin had also developed the webbed rashes apparent on Sydney's wrist, trailed mawkishly after them.

"I'm going to see what's happening," Scott said. He hurried after Ms. Martin, earning an approving nod from the teacher. There went Sherry's only protection from the unwelcome stares of Stiles, Yukimura, and the brunette.

On the other side of the classroom's outside windows, clear sheets of translucent plastic fell from above to drape over the glass. It extended to the ground, acting as a reverse force field that kept the internal febrile contaminants inside.

"How did he know disease control was coming?" Sherry wondered.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, calculating, but his tone when he spoke was casual. "He just has really good hearing. It's like he's a dog or something. Always creeps me out."

"Uh-huh."

"What do you think it is?" the brunette asked him bluntly.

He bent forward, his elbows digging into his knees. "I think it's smallpox."

"Not likely." The rebuttal came from the front of the room. The proctor, with his hideous mole, had his feet propped up on the teacher's desk, his magazine open in his lap. "Smallpox was eradicated worldwide in 1979. Well, we've only managed to completely eradicate two diseases in history; the other was Rinderpest." He paused dramatically, still staring off at some remote corner of the room. "It killed cows."

"So we should be comforted by that, right?" Stiles concluded.

"Unless it's something worse." He returned his attention to the magazine article he was attending.

Stiles blinked. A concentrated look passed over the brunette's expression. She furrowed her brows. "Whatever it is, they're taking it pretty seriously. There's a lot of cars and trucks out there." She tilted her head in the direction of the windows.

"Do you have dog-like hearing, too?" Sherry joked.

"Yes."

Taken aback by the girl's straightforward answer, Sherry fell silent.

After another moment of what appeared to be intent listening, the brunette fixated on Stiles. "Your dad's with them."

He stood up from his seat on the table and stepped toward the teacher's desk, sifting through a plastic bin of manila envelopes. "Alright, I should probably call."

Why was Stiles taking her "super hearing" so seriously? It wasn't possible to hear specific people's voices outside. Sherry tried, tensing as she focused. All she got was a muted buzz.

"Don't bother," the proctor ordered, looking up from his reading. "They would have shut off any access to all outside communication by now." He shugged. "No cell service, no wifi, no starting a panic. Looks like we're all just gonna have to wait here and see what happens." He wet his finger and flipped the page.

Annoyed, Stiles tromped back into the classroom. It wasn't even a moment later when more people in haz-mat suits bustled into the room, demanding everyone line up in the hall outside for smallpox antidotes.

The remaining students in the classroom jostled out eagerly. Sherry, too, raced out. She couldn't stand spending another minute in quarantine. The hall filled with students, shoving for a spot in the line. Amid the prevailing confusion, another teacher jogged in from some other corridor.

"Dad?" Yukimura asked.

He grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and pulled him back. "I need you to come with me." They dissolved into the mass of students.

The brunette girl, whose name Sherry still did not know, eyed her with the same distrustfulness. She snatched Yukimura's wrist and dragged her toward the start of the line. Sherry didn't even bother to follow.

The hall's chaos settled down shortly afterward. From the middle of the line, Sherry had a straight view of what was going on at the front. A woman in the caution-tape-yellow suit held up a syringe, dabbing rubbing alcohol on Yukimura's arm. She lowered the needle into the crook of her arm. A bolt of something bright and blue shot up the syringe and burned a hole into the woman's suit.

Sherry gawked, wondering how so much static electricity could have piled up to burn a hole through freaking plastic. The woman stumbled back, nudging two other workers. Alarmed, they escorted her out of the building, almost running. More haz-mats swarmed around the scene. Amid the movement, the two girls scurried away, their brown and black hair flying behind them.

After that, the needle-sticking process picked up again. It continued on like a conveyor belt. Sherry approached the front and was poked, examined, then shuttled off to the next destination. She was handed back her cell phone at the door and directed to the gym.

When she tried to call Parrish, it seemed that the proctor had been right. The upper corner of her phone flashed, showing the lack of signal and wifi bars. She sighed leaned against the nearest wall, pulling her legs into her chest as she slid to the floor and opened the only apps that would work without a network. The gym filled up quickly with students. Soon, there was almost no room to move among the sea of students.

Within an hour, a haz-mat appeared at the door, his helmet removed. "All clear," he announced. "All symptoms have disappeared. You're free to call your parents and go home."

Glancing back at her phone, Sherry was delighted to see the wifi and network bars filled again. She grinned and clambered off the desk. As she headed out of the school toward her bike, she realized something. Stiles, Scott, Yukimura, and the brunette still hadn't returned from wherever they'd gone. Every single test-taker had been sent to the gym. Everyone, it seemed, except for those four.


	5. Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The annual lacrosse bonfire garners some suspicious activity.

_↣You say that you wanna go↢_  
_↣To a land that's far away↢_  
_↣How are we supposed to get there↢_  
_↣With the way that we're living today?↢_

* * *

 

**Chapter 5 ➵ Phoenix**

* * *

 

Two days later, it was Monday, and Sherry returned home after another torturous day at school. She'd ended up finishing the lab report on Sunday. Stiles didn't even thank her in chemistry. When she'd asked him and Scott where they'd gone during the quarantine, they answered with blatant lies. In the gym? Please. Sherry knew they hadn't been.

She sat at her makeshift desk in her upstairs bedroom. Consisting of a large whitewashed plank of particle board mounted on outward-facing wooden chairs, it was highly unstable. Nonetheless, it was better than doing work on the kitchen table downstairs. That table was split cleanly into two sides: one was plastered with layers of legal documents, scattered police reports, and newspapers, the other caked with food residue and unwashed coffee mugs. Despite Parrish's spiffy tendencies, events as of late had him working late at the station, leaving him with no time to clean the house. Sherry knew she wasn't allowed near the official papers, so she mostly avoided the kitchen table when she could.

In front of her, Sherry had spread out her interview notes, her laptop, and lined paper on which she'd scribbled her research paper abstract. Her pink PC was one of her few she'd managed to salvage from her old home so far. Last week, when she had revisited her home to pack up her closet for the move, the officers handling her case had only allowed her to take what was necessary. Until they'd extracted every bit of evidence they could usurp, her house remained a legal crime scene for the time being.

Opening her word processor, Sherry reread the interview notes while simultaneously copying them onto her screen. _I first wanted to become an officer so that I could help people stay safe or regain their lives. There isn't enough justice in this world. I plan on making that change._

Outside, the sun set. A beautiful California sunset seeped across the starless sky. Downstairs, the front door creaked open. Parrish.

Thankful for a break from her homework, Sherry burst up from her chair and raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Jordan!" She skidded to a halt right in front of her uncle, astonished. Parrish was covered from head to foot in ash and soot. It looked like he'd been set on fire. "Wha-what happened to you?"

"I went to clean the chimney," he said, heading into the kitchen. "Are you up for pizza?"

She kept up with him like a wiener dog tries to keep up with its jogging owner. "The sheriff's station has a chimney?"

"Every building has a chimney." Parrish wasn't wearing his deputy uniform. He had on oddly-fitting jeans and an oversized green jacket. The only thing covering his bare chest was a cloudy layer of soot. Sherry was surprised that her uncle had such a muscular body. The propensity for fitness hadn't been passed to her mother's genes.

"Where's your uniform?"

He glanced down at himself, as if noticing his state for the first time. "They got dirty from the chimney. I borrowed these and sent mine to get cleaned. May I borrow your phone?"

"Where's yours?" She handed it to him anyway. "And why didn't you just wear your clothes home and clean them later at a laundromat?"

Her uncle held up a hand. "Hello, I'd like to order two pizzas."

Sherry stared at the mess on the kitchen table impatiently as she waited. She stalked over and gathered up the mugs in her arms, depositing them into the sink. Parrish handed her back her phone. "What were you asking?"

"Where's your phone?"

He looked up at the corner of the kitchen thoughtfully. "I must have dropped it down the chimney."

"And why didn't you come home in your dirty clothes and clean them later?"

"They were really dirty." He held out his arms as if to demonstrate just how much. "I couldn't just drive home in them. I'd have gotten my car dirty."

Sherry had the distinct notion that Parrish was treating her like a small child. "Why didn't you change into spare clothes before you got in the chimney?"

"I hadn't thought that far." He looked over at the kitchen table. "Hey, I should clean that."

She ripped off a paper towel sheet and handed it to him. She took another for herself and wet it in the sink. "Why were you even cleaning the chimney anyway? Don't they hire people for that stuff?"

"They hired me," Parrish pointed out, wiping down the food half of the table.

"That's not what I meant." She sprayed a combination of Windex and dish soap onto the table, hoping it would make an impact on the thick goop of food leavings. "You're a deputy."

"What did you mean, then?" Parrish gazed at her earnestly, his green eyes wide. He didn't look as an uncle should. He was maybe ten years older than Sherry.

She didn't buy his expression. "Whatever. It's just a chimney." And she doubted Parrish would give her a straightforward answer anyway. They spent the next minutes in silence, rubbing down the table until the glossy sheen of the wood finish was visible again. She pulled a glass from a cabinet and filled it with ice water. She sat down in her chair and rubbed the condensation. "Remember the interview I did with Deputy Haigh?"

Parrish tensed up, whirling around to stare at her. "Did you say Deputy Haigh?"

"Yeah. I'm typing it up," she continued, "And I'm wondering if you can maybe give it a look, see what information I can add to my report. 'Cuz, you know, you're a deputy."

His face was stony and stiff. "I don't think you should have interviewed Haigh."

"Why? And I can't change it now! My report is due tomorrow!"

The doorbell rang. Parrish forced a bright smile onto his face. "How about that pizza?"

* * *

  
The crisp air faded away. The bonfire's heat nudged the skin on her face, prodding her to unbutton the woolen jacket bundled around herself. Sherry refused, taking the almost overbearing heat of the flaming pit in stride. With her hands stuffed cozily into her pockets, she searched the throbbing crowd of the annual lacrosse bonfire for anyone she knew. A few freshmen she recognized from her honors English class were scattered here and there, some with their hands clutching classic red plastic cups.

On the other side of the mass of teenagers, a DJ's booth towered over the party goers. The mammoth speakers visibly vibrated, sending waves of heavy bass through Sherry's bones. Aimlessly, she weaved through the crowd, half-hoping to be offered alcohol by a stranger and half-hoping to avoid such an incident.

A cooler was open on the ground, filled with a mixture of ice, beer cans, and half-empty liquor bottles. A beer keg balanced on a soggy crate beside the plastic ice chest, the top of it piled with filled red cups. Tipsy kids skipped over, clumsily nabbing cups from the stack. A cold, guilty tremor swept up Sherry's body. This was illegal.

She took a cup and cradled it in her hands, staring at the yellow-brown liquid as she wandered through groups of dancing teenagers. She sniffed the beer and drew back immediately, cringing. How did people drink this stuff? She stepped around someone who stood in her path. Oddly, the person mirrored her, catching her off-guard. She slammed into a stiff chest, her drink sploshing over the side of the plastic cup and splattering onto her boots.

"Sorry!" she winced, craning her neck upwards to face the person. Scott. She vaguely remembered that she'd seen him playing at the scrimmage the other day. "Oh. Hi."

With an almost disapproving glance at her red cup, he said, "You know, as captain of the lacrosse team, I'm supposed to be making sure people don't get drunk at the bonfire."

"I've just decided. I'm not going to drink it. It reeks." She eyed him curiously. His dark hair was trimmed and quiffed. The colorful lights of the party bounced off his equally dark irises. "Are you going to report me or something?"

"No," he said, chuckling. "Who would I tell, anyway? The cops? Isn't your uncle a deputy?"

She took a whiff of the beer again. It still stank. "How do you know?"

"Stiles told me. Isn't Parrish a little young to be an uncle?"

"Okay, well," she admitted, "He's not directly my uncle. He's cousins with my mom. There's like a twenty year age difference. Their moms also had a wide age gap. Or something."

Scott scanned the crowd easily, given he was a head taller than Sherry. "Where are your friends?"

She kept her tone even. "I don't have any."

"Yet?"

"However you want to think about it. Really, though," she confided, "You're the only person who isn't acting distinctly annoyed when I try to start a conversation."

He seemed taken aback, his narrow eyes widening some. "Well, you're not obnoxious."

"Thanks," she said. The music had a placating sort of effect on her, despite its surging tempo. She looked down and saw her foot bouncing in rhythm, the leather of her cowboy boots dotted with dark liquid. "Where are your friends?"

"Dancing, I think." He gazed at some point behind Sherry. "Trying to get drunk."

"Aren't you supposed to stop them?"

He shrugged, a smile tugging across his cheeks. In that moment, even his own mother would have mistaken him for a sheepish puppy. "I'm not too worried about them."

"Hey," she started uncertainly. "Are you at the sheriff's station often?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Does the building have a chimney?"

He wrinkled his nose, giving her a puzzled look. "What? No, it doesn't."

She huffed. "My uncle's a terrible liar."

"What did he say?" Scott was intrigued. He leaned in, as if expecting a secret to be revealed.

Should she trust him? For some reason, it seemed absurd not to divulge her thoughts to this kid. She sighed. "Last night, Jordan came home just-" she motioned at her body, "covered in soot. It looked like he'd been rolling around in a volcano. He was wearing lost-and-found clothes and told me he'd been cleaning the chimney at the station." She stared at Scott. "My uncle never lies."

Something flickered in his eyes. It almost seemed like recognition. "Sorry, I don't know," Scott said. "Maybe he had an arsonist case and didn't want to scare you?" He backed away, slowly. "I should actually check to see if my friends are doing okay." He fled the scene, leaving Sherry standing there with unanswered questions and a half-spilled cup of cheap beer.

She downed a sip and spluttered. Somewhere amid the ensuing hacking coughs, Sherry dropped the cup onto the dry dirt under her feet. The liquid splashed, licking at her jeans. It seeped into the cracks in the ground, softening the dirt. Hoping the grass wouldn't die from her blunder, Sherry slipped back into the forest of people. She found a mostly empty bench just off the main mob of party goers. Brushing off the crumbs that littered the bench, she sat down on the splintering wood. To her left, a passionate couple groped at each other. Sherry leaned her elbows on her thighs and rested her chin in her hands.

She watched as a girl with bouncy black hair twisted and danced to the pumping beat. A boy in a patriotic tank did the robot sufficiently poorly and earned a kiss from a larger boy whose white belly overflowed past his spiky belt. Several yards over, two freshmen hoarded at a bag filled with bottles. The one with darker skin urged his friend to drink on, passing him another bottle of dark liquid. He eagerly gulped the beer down.

Over to the side, Scott appeared again. The brunette girl from Saturday danced with a flask in her hand, trying to ignore him. The girl stumbled. Clearly, the effects of the alcohol were kicking in. Scott brought her arm over his shoulder, supporting her. From the urgent way he responded, he seemed overly worried. Scott led the girl to the table the two freshmen were at.

A light bulb went off in Sherry's head. That freshman boy, the one who was chugging bottles of light beer, had been hanging out with Scott and Stiles' clique last week. She remembered thinking it strange that a freshman was talking to a bunch of juniors.

The alcohol seemed to be working on him, too. He stumbled as he stood up, struggling to stand upright. Not a moment later, even Scott doubled over, his movements resembling those of intoxication. Sherry swore Scott hadn't drunk a sip. The junior staggered, attempting to walk. He made it halfway to the DJ's stand before he collapsed.

She bolted to her feet, shoving her way toward the table. Unfortunately, several big, burly men in security guard uniforms had beaten her to it. Sherry tried to move faster.

"Hey!" The sober freshman demanded. "They're my friends!" The security guards were dragging the brunette and the drunk freshman away by the arms. One of them, a furious look on his bald head, swung at him, knocking the boy to the ground.

Sherry finally made it over to the table. When she looked at where Scott had fallen, he was nowhere to be found. The security guards, too, had disappeared.

She stepped over the the fallen boy and offered her hand. Surprised, he grabbed it and let Sherry pull him up. "Hi," she shouted over the noise of the music. "Where did Scott go?"

"I don't know! Those men took them! I think something's wrong!"

"They're drunk," she replied.

"It's not just that!" He looked around, fixating on the DJ. "I have to turn off the music!"

"What?"

He pushed past the throng of dancers, bee-lining toward the DJ. Sherry hurried after him. "What are you doing?"

He veered around the corner, searching for something. Then he stalked toward a large black box-like thing on the table under the DJ's stand. He pulled at a bundle of cords and wires. It wasn't going anywhere.

Sherry's heartbeat picked up and she shivered, staring at the kid in anticipation. There had to be a rule against tampering with someone else's equipment. She approached him and wrapped her hands around the cords. She tugged.

The two of them exploded backward, the wires finally torn. The music was gone.

"Yes!" the boy grinned. The crowd, after a moment of shock, began to boo, demanding the music be turned right back on.

Sherry stared at him. "What did we just do?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, still smiling. "But I think we saved Liam, Scott, and Malia."

"Malia's the girl and Liam's your friend?"

"Yeah." He stared at Sherry for a moment. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"

She laughed. "Yep. I'm Sherry."

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Mason."


	6. Obfuscate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I never posted this full story on AO3, so I'm just gonna mass upload all the chapters right now. Just so I can say I've done it.

_↣The world's in trouble; there's no communication↢_

_↣An' everyone can say what they want to say↢_

_↣It never gets better, anyway↢_

* * *

 

**Chapter 6 ➵ Obfuscate**

* * *

 

Word was buzzing around school. The first official lacrosse game was looming up. Beacon Hills versus Devenford Prep, the same as the previous scrimmage.

Sherry didn't even ask her uncle if she could go. He hadn't been around lately, always staying out late and returning home scuffed up and exhausted. He claimed he'd taken on extra shifts.

She locked up her bike outside of the school. Already, students filed into the lacrosse stadium, decked out in maroon jerseys and Devenford green hoodies. she joined the mass of lacrosse fans, waiting in line to buy her ticket.

Once she passed inside, she made a beeline toward the snack bar. Her pockets stuffed with Skittles and M&M's packets, she strolled to the bleachers. Out on the field, the two teams warmed up and stretched.

She didn't know where to sit. Her spot up at the top was now filled with boisterous teens, none of whom she knew. On the first row of bleachers, Sheriff Stilinski chatted softly with Malia. Farther over, Mason sat alone. She picked up her pace, stopping next to the boy and plopping into the space next to him.

Mason started at her sudden entrance. "Hi!" he exclaimed, surprised. "I remember you."

She grinned. "Where is your friend Liam?"

He nodded toward the player's bench, where a Dunbar was conversing with a Stilinski.

"He's Dunbar?" she questioned. "The kid who got mauled at the scrimmage?"

Mason winced. "Yeah, that's him. I don't know why they stopped the game, though. He was perfectly fine."

"But," she spluttered, "It looked like he broke his arm! Everyone was so worried!"

He shrugged. "False alarm. Actually," he considered, momentarily stroking his clean-shaven chin, "They might've stopped the game because of the murder attempt."

"Murder? You mean those two teenage assassins?"

"Yeah." His voice became melancholy and bitter. "I felt kinda back-stabbed. You know, for a while, Garrett and Violet were actually my friends. Garrett had me convinced I could trust him."

She didn't quite know how to respond. "You never know, nowadays," she muttered. "Anyone could be keeping secrets."

Mason sighed and rubbed his hands together. "You got that right."

"Did they ever get caught? The assassins?"

"They got killed. A mountain lion attacked the police vehicle transporting Violet. Garrett was trying to rescue Violet from the cops, but the cougar got him, too."

"Did they deserve it?"

Mason's answer was point-blank. "Yeah. They did."

"I guess that's good, then."

A sharp whistle pierced across the field. The game had begun. Sherry focused raptly on the field, her puce brown eyes darting as the ball flew from Devenford player to Devenford player. One of them rammed into a Beacon Hills player, causing him to collapse on the ground. He stood up a moment later, looking almost triumphant that he'd survived. Stiles.

Again and again, Devenford made passes and scored goals. Stiles kept getting knocked over, whether it be from a ball to the helmet or a stick in the stomach. And Liam? While play surged around him, he looked stricken, frozen in place.

"What's he doing?" Sherry hissed. "Why isn't he moving?"

"I don't know!" There was a pang of worry in Mason's voice.

"Isn't Scott team captain?" she realized. "I haven't seen him all game."

"He said he'd be late."

"Late?" she scoffed. "The game is nearly over."

"For the love of God, Liam! Move!" Coach Finstock bellowed.

Sherry and Mason snapped back to the field. The Devenford team moved like a front. They sprinted like a wide green tsunami, headed toward the goal. Liam stood glued in place, just staring at them as they ran past.

He could have snatched the ball and prevented a goal. He could have bought a few more points for the Beacon Hills team. But he didn't snap out of his trance until the ball slammed into the netting of his team's goal. A whistle sounded. The Beacon Hills fans groaned, some people throwing up their hands in defeat. Liam had just lost the game for the school.

Sherry glanced at Mason. His face was blank and disbelieving, staring unblinkingly at Liam.

➵ ➵ ➵  

It was Saturday. Parrish was out again. Sherry had nothing to do all day and no good friends to hang out with. At her previous school in San Jose, her teachers assigned her boatloads of homework over the weekends, so much, in fact, that she had no time for anything but homework and cheer practice. Now, her teachers assigned her no more homework than was necessary. The closest cheer gym was an hour's drive away. For the first time in her life, Sherry had absolutely nothing to do.

She pulled out her laptop and stretched out on Parrish's scratchy sofa. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the screen open to Google.

Calaveras.

The search yielded generic results. Calaveras County, California. A state park. The Calaveras Superior Court. The only things interesting on the page were a definition and a row of image results. A calavera is a representation of a human skull made from either sugar or clay, which is used in the Mexican celebration of the Day of the Dead and the Roman Catholic holiday All Souls and Saints Day. So her father's murderer was part of a family named after skulls? She didn't know whether that was terrifying or pathetically hilarious.

Calaveras Family.

Still, she received zero results. Sighing, Sherry abandoned the search. She opened Netflix, which was still funded by her mother's credit card. After the disasters had stricken her family, the court had allowed her parent's money to still pay for her daily living, up until the existing expiration dates. She'd kept the debit card her mother had registered for her, even though it was tied to her mother's parent account. She had to wait until she was eighteen to inherit the rest of her parent's money.

Netflix opened a pop-up box. Your credit card is about to expire. Edit your payment settings? It seemed her period of financial buoyancy was coming to a close. She let out a slow breath and closed her computer. She stood up and went to check the refrigerator. Empty. It was time for a trip to the grocery store.

➵ ➵ ➵

Late that night, Parrish arrived home, his nose buried deep in a pocket-sized tome. He barely acknowledged Sherry as he perused the pages, absentmindedly draping his jacket over a chair and lowering himself into it.

She glanced over her shoulder, distracted from the pan on the stove. Oil sizzled among a thinning pile of chopped celery, the green stalks browning slightly in the heat. "Whatcha reading?"

He didn't answer. She mixed up the celery with a wooden spatula, wincing as flecks of oil bit at her wrist. "Jordan?"

"Um," he muttered, as if that was a response.

Sherry poured the celery into an empty plate and drizzled more vegetable oil into the frying pan. With one hand balancing the cutting board, she pushed the clumps of chopped cabbage into the pan. Immediately, the oil popped like bubbles in champagne.

"Uncle Jordan?" she prompted, this time louder. Maybe he hadn't heard her over the frying and the whir of the fans. "Hey!" She looked at him again, trying to read the faded text on the cover of the book. Compiled Bestiary. Property of the Argent Family. "Bestiary?" she asked, intrigued.

That seemed to snap Parrish out of it. His head snapped up, suddenly aware of where he was, and shut the book. He slipped it into his lap. "Just some- some casual reading," he said, smiling. "What are you cooking?"

"Chao mian. Fried noodles." She emptied the frying pan again and dumped in a large bowl filled with thick noodles. She'd boiled them earlier and let them out to sit.

"Your dad taught you how to cook that, right?" he asked.

She chuckled, the mention not even jarring her. "Actually, my gramma taught both of us. My dad could be so chauvinistic at times. He avoided learning how to cook nearly his whole life."

"Speaking of your dad," Parrish piped up, "I've got news."

Sherry stiffened. Did they finally find the killer? She focused on her noodles, reminding herself not to get her hopes up. She pushed the noodles around the pan, throwing in the celery, cabbage, and cooked beef. "Yeah?"

"The SFPD have decided to put a hold on the investigation. The killer you described doesn't exist in their records. Your house is no longer a crime scene."

She felt like punching something. The killer didn't exist? She had seen his picture on Stiles' board the other day. But she couldn't exactly disclose that she'd been sneaking around in the Sheriff's house. "They're just going to let the case go?" She couldn't cover up the livid tremor in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Sherry. But the good news is you can get all your stuff from your house back. We can move your bed here. You can get back all your furniture and anything else you want."

"I don't care about all my stuff. I want justice for my dad! For both of my parents! My mom doesn't deserve the sentence she got, either!" Her wrist grazed the side of the frying pan. She drew back, hissing. A faint pink line was visible on her white skin.

"I'm sorry," he repeated plaintively. Parrish always had that characteristic about him that was comforting. Like he understood her, even though she knew he plainly didn't. "I'm trying to convince them to continue the case. To try harder for more evidence. But, Sherry, they don't have much to work with. The secret organization your mom aided? Legally, they don't exist."

"Calaveras," she blurted. In the next moment, she had to muster all her strength not to clap her hand over her mouth and form some excuse for what she'd just revealed. Parrish might not even believe her.

"What?" Parrish sounded shocked, almost accusatory. "Again?"

She inhaled, turning off the burner. "When I was at Stiles' house," she began, turning around to face her uncle, "He left early. I was alone in his house for a few hours so I... I got bored. I ended up in his room, because I saw something odd." She searched Parrish's eyes for a sign of disappointment or anger. "He has this detective board, where he tapes up all this evidence and links them together." Sherry closed her eyes briefly, recalling the image to her mind. "And in the corner, there was a picture of him. Of the man who killed my mother. And the group of pictures - they were labeled Calaveras."

His green eyes were trained on her, his fair face serious and determined. "Are you sure?"

"I'd recognize that bastard any time," she retorted.

Nodding slowly, he said, "Did you see anything else about him?"

"They had hunting gear." She shivered. "And the whole collection of people looked murderous. There was this lady in the middle; I think she was the boss. She had this just evil expression on her face."

"I'll look into it," Parrish promised, his eyes as open and honest as they always were. Yet, it seemed as if he wasn't telling her something. She decided not to push.

Sherry pulled two plates from the cupboard and dished out portions of noodles. Grabbing forks from a drawer, she set the plates on the kitchen table and pulled out the chair across from Parrish. "Remind me to get chopsticks from my house when we stop by for my stuff," she said lightheartedly.

Parrish laughed. "Of course."

➵ ➵ ➵  

"What?" Stiles yelped, staring at her as if she'd just burned him. Scott nudged him. "This is what I get for rushing off to help Lydia," he muttered in annoyance.

"It's not like I poked around in your underwear drawers or anything," Sherry explained. "I just saw the board."

Stiles glared at her. "Oh, yeah? I'll bet you expect me to believe that."

She blinked. "I do?"

"I believe you," Scott offered.

"Thanks," she said. "Because all I wanted to do was ask you one question."

Stiles wiggled his pencil between his fingers and stared out the window, frustrated. Scott ignored him. "Yeah?"

"Who are the Calaveras?"

Stiles choked, making a big show out of his new-found inability to breathe. Scott hesitated, glancing at Stiles as if his friend would supply him an answer. "They're an old, powerful hunting family," Scott finally said. "They're from Mexico."

Sherry folded her hands on the matte black lab bench. "One of them killed my dad."

"I'm sorry," Scott supplied.

She didn't need his sympathy. "And the whole organization, or family, or whatever - they blackmailed my mother for years. They forced her to give up classified government information and now she's in prison for espionage. That's a life sentence."

"Yeah, we get it," Stiles drawled. "They killed your father. Prepare to die."

Sherry raised an eyebrow threateningly.

He threw up his hands. "What do you want from us? To track them down? Why don't you ask your uncle, huh?"

"The first time I asked him, he said he had no clue. The second time, he said he'd look into it." The blank looks on the boys' faces let her know that they didn't understand her point. "He was lying. I could tell. Jordan - I mean, Parrish, is a terrible liar. It's been five days."

"We'll help you look for them," Scott promised. "Your parents will get justice. Don't worry." His puppy-like eyes looked so open and earnest. Just like Parrish. Stiles just mussed up his brown hair, venting his pent-up exasperated energy.

"Please do," Sherry said. But she knew that there was a ninety-nine percent chance he wouldn't keep up his end.

The clock's minute hand ticked to 12:22. The annoyingly dissonant bell buzzed over the loudspeaker. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and gave Scott and Stiles one last warning look. Then she was out of the classroom.

For her past few weeks at Beacon Hills, she'd avoided the cafeteria. Nobody in her classes had particularly taken a liking to her, so she was stuck without lunch mates. That fact hadn't really bothered her, though. It was far more peaceful to sit out under a tree than to be suffocated by the overwhelming noise and smells of the cafeteria.

Today was different. She needed answers. Scott's whole clique had something odd about them. They constantly missed classes, but for some reason still seemed very interested in school. They disappeared from the PSATs. Liam seemed to have broken his arm and halted a scrimmage, but turned out to be perfectly fine. Something wasn't adding up.

And then there was Mason. Aside from Scott, who seemed to have a generally polite demeanor, he was the only person at school who'd been the least bit friendly toward her. Yesterday, he waved at her, the one nice gesture she'd received her whole time at Beacon Hills. And he was friends with Liam, connected to the enigma of Scott and Stiles' clique.

She slid into a chair at his table, interrupting the apparently very serious conversation they were having about a video game. Liam stared at her, a dopey look on his face. Mason grinned. "Hey!"

"Hi," she chirped. "What game are you talking about?"

"Revenge of the Oni," Mason boasted. "It's got really intense Japanese graphics. I just got my copy in the mail."

"Oni? They're like demons or something, right?"

Mason nodded vigorously, launching into an excessively detailed tirade about the game and its various features. Beside him, Liam shrank in his seat, staring wide-eyed at his lunch tray. He clearly wasn't comfortable with Sherry encroaching upon his table.

"You should come play tonight!" Mason concluded, excited. "I bet Liam can't beat me on this game!"

"Sure!" She felt something strangely giddy rise up in her chest at the thought hanging out for the first time since her old life.

"Liam?"

The boy jumped at the sound of his name. "Huh?"

"You're coming to my house tonight, right?" Mason prompted, tilting his head expectantly.

Liam's eyes flickered to Scott's table. Sherry couldn't decide whether his irises were blue or green. "Uh, I don't know. I think I have to practice lacrosse."

"You said you were coming in biology!" Mason complained. "Remind me never to trust you with scheduling."

Distractedly, Liam picked up his tray, the food on it still half-eaten. "I'll meet you later." He shuffled off, never once making direct eye contact with Mason or Sherry.

"Is he still upset over what happened at the game?" Sherry questioned.

Mason shrugged, defeated. "I don't know what's up with him these days."

 

 


	7. Extinct

_↣Cause after all the partying and smashing and crashing↢_

_↣And all the glitz and glam and the fashion↢_

_↣And all the pandemonium and all the madness↢_

_↣There comes a time when you fade to the blackness↢_

 

* * *

  **Chapter 7 ➵ Extinct**

* * *

 

A clear bell sounded repetitively. Parrish dug his hand into his pocket, fishing out his cell phone. The caller was loud, the voice projecting enough that even Sherry could hear it from across the In-N-Out booth. "Nine-two-seven-D! Possible nine-oh-five-V! Report to duty."

"What's that?" she asked, sounding like a nosy toddler.

"Investigate dead body," Parrish explained. "Possible vicious animal." He scooted out of the booth and brushed burger crumbs off his uniform. He let out a huff. "The one time I eat out with my niece."

Sherry snatched what was left of her burger and her carton of fries in one hand, dumping the rest of the contents of the tray into the trash. She shoved the tray on top of the bin and scurried after Parrish as he hurried out of the fast food joint. "Can I come too?"

"I suppose you have to. I'm your ride," he sighed, unlocking his car and sliding into the driver's seat.

Sherry hopped into the passenger's seat, munching on a fry. "Cool! Do you get to use stun guns on the wild animals?"

"You'll see."

They arrived at the crime scene, a small clearing amid the woods of Beacon Hills Preserve, shortly afterward. Sheriff's station vehicles were parked along the perimeter of the forest, officers wandering in and out of the trees.

As Parrish shoved past curious passers-by, Sherry jogged to keep up with him. When she passed a trash can, she tossed her burger wrapper toward it. The wrapper bounced off. Groaning, Sherry stalked over to drop it firmly inside.

When she turned back to Parrish, she realized that he'd disappeared somewhere ahead. Besides for a few scattered officers and hikers, she was alone. Tightening her jacket around her torso protectively, she trekked in the direction Parrish had been headed.

The trees thinned the nearer she got to the clearing. Deep gouges scored the trunks of oak trees, getting deeper and more expansive as she went. Sherry reached the edge of the clearing and clenched her fist. She couldn't turn back now. The claw marks were now crimson and spattered with mahogany droplets. In the center of the clearing lay what had once been a person. Now, the corpse looked gutted, even more torn up than the trees. Two black concentric circles were painted around the body.

An animal couldn't have done that.

She backed away and picked up a sprint, looping around the clearing. For awhile, there seemed to be nothing but banana-yellow crime scene tape trailing from tree to tree. And then, just beyond a cluster of oaks, beige uniforms milled about, talking and investigating.

She slowed to a walk as she reached them, gasping in relief. She heard a snippet of their conversation. The wolves did this. She tugged on Parrish's sleeve. "There haven't been wolves in California since 1924. Well, except for one wolf and his pack that crossed the border from Oregon last year."

He glanced down at her, surprised. Sheriff Stilinski stood across from him, his arms crossed. "You let a kid near the crime scene?" he demanded.

Parrish returned his gaze unblinkingly. "That doesn't seem to stop your son."

The sheriff glared at him. "You know what I mean, Deputy."

"I didn't have a choice," he answered calmly. "I can't drive her home now."

On cue, two clumsy teenagers burst into view, trampling noisily over fallen twigs and decomposing leaves. Painfully slowly, the sheriff turned around, setting his eyes reluctantly on one Stiles Stilinski and one Scott McCall. "Just as I was making a point," he muttered darkly.

Stiles bent over, panting. Once he recovered, he beamed awkwardly at his father. "Hey, dad! What's up?" Scott contributed a small wave.

The sheriff excused himself from Sherry, moving toward the two boys in irritation. "May I have a word with you two?"

Stiles paled, but Scott just nodded good-naturedly. "Sure, Sheriff."

Sherry looked at Parrish questioningly. He just shrugged. They watched as the sheriff berated the boys in whisper-shouts, just soft enough to be out of Sherry's earshot. When the sheriff returned, dragging Stiles along by the scruff of his shirt, he said to Sherry, "Stiles will be very happy to drive you home."

She raised an eyebrow at Stiles. He laughed nervously. "Yeah, I'd totally love to leave the scene right after I drove for twenty minutes and had my car break down on me to get here."

"Then it's settled," Sheriff Stilinski concluded. He let go of Stiles' collar.

With a scathing glance at his father, Stiles stomped away. Sherry sighed and followed after. The two of them hiked in silence out of the woods. The Jeep waited patiently for them, parked off the curb of an empty side street. Stiles unlocked the doors and walked around the hood of the car to climb into the driver's side. Sherry piled in, brushing layers of crumbs off the worn seat.

"Don't take me home," she said. "I'm going to hang out with Mason."

"Mason?" Stiles repeated. "He's a freshman."

"Yeah? Did you forget what year I'm in?"

Stiles started the car. It sputtered and complained like a work mules finally getting on its feet. "Aren't you ahead two years?"

The Jeep, after a long consideration, lurched forward and bumped down the gray asphalt. The road clearly hadn't been repaired for decades.

"I'm in classes two years ahead of most Beacon Hills freshmen," she said. "But I'm still in ninth grade. I have to take ninth grade English."

"Just like Lydia," he murmured.

"Who?"

He didn't answer. They reached Mason's home in five minutes. Stiles killed the gas, walking around to let Sherry out of the car. "Does Parrish know you're here?"

"I'll text him," she replied. "Or you'll tell him. I know you're going back to the crime scene after this."

Stiles considered her for a moment. "I am not."

"Sure." She knocked on Mason's door. As she waited for him to answer, staring at the pristine layer of cherry paint on his front door, she could hear Stiles trying to start the engine up again.

Mason opened the door just as the Jeep rolled away. He watched it over Sherry's shoulder. "Stiles?"

She wiped her shoes and stepped inside. "I'll explain later."

Inside the den, the TV was already flashing with pre-game videos. A shirtless warrior pranced in circles, slashing a katana at looming black shapes. "This animation is so realistic," Mason exclaimed, grabbing a controller.

Sherry took one too, fiddling with the controls. She sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the sofa. "You're right. That warrior dude is pretty ripped."

Mason settled on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. He stared dreamily at the video. "Don't tell Liam this, but I totally bought this game just for this warrior NPC. Like damn, right?"

Of course Mason was gay. The one boy to be nice to her just had to be interested in boys. She grinned. "Yeah. His jawline is so hot. The structure is on point."

"Thank you!" Mason held out his hand for a high five. "See, that's the kind of thing I can't talk to Liam about. Which guys are attractive."

➵ ➵ ➵

"We're starting another lab!" Mr. Lewis cheered, as if lab work were his favorite classroom activity. It probably was, considering he always read or played solitaire on his computer instead of working during labs. The class groaned.

"Pair up into groups of two!" Immediately, Stiles scooted his desk over to Scott. Mr. Lewis glared. "Except for you, Stilinski and McCall. Don't think I didn't see that."

The both of them deflated. Stiles edged toward another boy, but the kid hissed that he already had a partner. Stiles exchanged a forlorn glance with Scott.

"You can pick up the instructions from the projector," Mr. Lewis said. "You may begin!" He sauntered over to his desk and sank into the plushy leather of his swivel chair.

Sherry nudged Stiles with her elbow. "Are you going to stop ignoring me now? We're lab partners."

He scoffed. "I haven't been ignoring you."

She turned her gaze to Scott. "Both of you have, since Tuesday. And your whole clique too. If you weren't going to help me look up the Calaveras, you could have at least told me straight out."

"We are trying to help you research," Scott said unhelpfully.

She was dubious. "Okay, then is this because I saw you at the crime scene? I'm not stupid; I know something is going on that I'm not supposed to know about."

"Nothing's going on," Stiles blurted hastily, twirling his pen around between his forefinger and thumb. It clattered to the linoleum floor.

"Well, I'm not going to try to get into it if it's not my business, but you guys could at least be nicer." She stood up and went to retrieve three copies of the lab instructions. When she came back, Stiles and Scott were deep into a whispered conversation again. "Here." She shoved the papers onto their desks. "Scott, I think Fred is doing your entire lab for you."

He turned, searching the classroom for his lab partner. The blonde was hunched over in his darkened corner of the room, scribbling down his pre-lab furiously. "Should I be helping him?"

She shrugged. "Seems like he'd rather work alone. That means we can all chat about my dad's murderers."

"What about our lab?" Stiles suggested.

She shot him down. "We wouldn't finish in class even if we tried. We're meeting at your house after school."

He sank into his seat. "Again?" he whined.

"Anyway," she declared, "I heard the sheriff say wolves killed the body on Tuesday."

Scott froze.

"That's impossible," Stiles drawled. "Wolves-"

"Haven't been in California for a decade," Sherry finished. "Yeah, that's what I told him. Then he shooed me away."

"Well, maybe he was annoyed that you were poking into official business."

"Sure," she said, "But I saw the body. There were two rings of black paint around it. A wolf couldn't have done that." Something caught her eye. Black ink, just under Scott's T-shirt sleeve. She leaned forward, toward Scott's desk, which was diagonally behind hers. "Sort of like that."

Two black rings of ink circled his bicep, the tattoo smooth and unbreaking. Scott made an excuse. "They're just circles. Fairly common."

"So are wolves," she retorted. "Oh, wait, they aren't! And wolves generally don't have gargantuan claws, either." She stretched out her hand to demonstrate and mimicked making claw marks on her desk. "So what kills like a wolf, has claws like a wolf, is monster-sized, and schemes like a human?"

"Maybe someone had a pet dog that they set loose," Stiles quipped. "Like, 'Hey, Fluffy, why don't you viciously murder my enemy? To death?' "

She gritted her teeth. "Fine, don't be helpful. But remember, you promised to help me with the Calaveras."

"We're trying," Scott repeated.

"Yeah," Sherry said. "Maybe one day that'll mean something."

➵ ➵ ➵  

She emerged from the informational meeting about an hour after school ended. The Beacon Hills cheer team, she decided, was not elite enough for her time. Her old school's team used to compete for championship and national awards. This team didn't even compete.

She watched the egress of prospective cheerleaders from the corner of her eye. The girls all giggled, laughing at some inside joke. None of them looked athletic at all, a surefire sign of a weak cheer team. Sherry opened her locker and tried to stuff in two textbooks. Cheer was a legitimate sport, but could only be treated as such if the team members acted like athletes.

The textbooks wouldn't fit. Four weeks in, and her locker was already cluttered. Sherry growled and pulled out loose leaf papers, organizing them into their respective binders. The chatter of girls faded. She pulled wrappers and other miscellaneous trash from the recesses of her locker and dropped them into the nearest trash can. The cheer coach left the gym, locking the door behind her. Sherry placed the binders and books into her locker methodically, arranging the spines in chronological order. The creaky double doors of the school slammed shut, the reverberations echoing down the empty school halls. She jiggled the lock back into place and twirled the dial.

She checked her phone. Five o'clock. She started toward the front doors, but was interrupted by an ear-splitting sound.

She had never heard a window shatter before, but she knew instinctively that that was what it sounded like right at that moment. She had just rounded the corner when she saw what had broken through: a person.

And as the person stood up, it was quite obvious at once who he was. Yet, for some reason, Sherry thought it couldn't be him at all.

Scott McCall pushed himself off the ground, kicking puddles of glass shards away from his feet. He seethed.

Another shape leaped into the building from the hole, but this one only looked remotely human. He looked as if he had gotten way too carried away with his Halloween makeup, but Sherry could tell that wasn't the case as she slowly backed away. She peeked around the corner, staring at the man's grotesquely wolfish face. Tufts of curly hair sprouted from his cheeks and his eyes glowed eerily yellow. He bared his canines and slashed out at Scott with blackened, crescent-like claws.

Scott didn't even appear fazed. He caught the wrists of his attacker easily, flipping the man painfully onto his back. In what seemed to be an archaic move, the man violently bit his fangs into Scott's ankle.

At first, Scott didn't react. Then, his eyes flashed a powerful red, the light reflecting off every piece of shattered glass. He rolled his head back and howled, just like a wolf. The sound was strangely sonorous to Sherry's ears as it pervaded the entire building and bounced off the walls. She could hear the floor trembling with sound waves under her sneakered feet.

She gripped her backpack straps tighter, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She swallowed. Could they hear her breathe? Would they attack her?

Scott's face contorted as layers of extra tissue proliferated under his skin and hair spurted from his cheeks. His front canines elongated, glistening in the evening light. Suddenly his face didn't look too different from his attacker's. The howling stopped.

In an instant, Scott - or what used to be Scott - swung his claws into the chest of the other man. Steadily, he lifted the man up and shoved him against a nearby wall.

The man lunged forward to strike. A brawl like one Sherry had never before seen unfolded in front of her eyes. All she wanted to do was run away, but her only exit was the front double-door. That path was right in the way of the battle. So she pressed herself against the cold wall, attempting miserably to stifle her breathing, and stayed still like a statue as the two creatures landed punches and blows and threw each other against walls.

Sherry edged stealthily away, her back continually pressed against the wall. Once she was certain she was out of sight, she fled down the hall and turned another corner, far away from the melee at the front of the school. Shakily, she pulled out her phone and dialed Parrish.

"Help," she squeaked. "I'm at school. And there's a fight."

"A fight?" He sounded confused. "Are you in it?"

"No. But please send help."

His voice was worried now. "What's wrong?"

She choked. He was going to think she was delusional. "Werewolves."

 


	8. Pragmatic

_↣'Cause all we need is love↢_

_↣and love needs sacrifice↢_

_↣But it's sure worth the prize↢_

_↣If you get it right↢_

_↣'Cause way up in the sky↢_

_↣There's no such thing as blind↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 8 ➵ Pragmatic**

* * *

 

"CGI?"

Scott nodded quickly. "Yeah. It was CGI."

"You do know what CGI means, right?" she retorted.

Scott blinked.

"Computer-generated imagery," Stiles explained, dragging his palm across his face in irritation. "This is why I always come up with the plans."

"Okay, well, it was special effects," Scott tried. "Lots of makeup. We were preparing for one of those cosplay things."

"You broke the school's window."

"By accident."

She crossed her arms and stared at her paper. "Uh-huh. How'd you get the hair to grow?"

"It's like one of those sponge things," he said. "Where you add water and it grows."

Stiles clamped his hand over Scott's mouth. "What he's trying to say is he has no clue how it works. He just bought the set of stuff from online last week."

Scott, with his eyes bugging out, nodded agreeably. "Mm-hm!"

"Well, it was realistic, at least," Sherry relented. "And kind of scary." She tugged at a tress of ash brown hair that had fallen in her face. "I don't see why my uncle had to tell you I was there."

"To explain," Scott suggested.

"You're doing a pretty poor job of it."

"No talking during study time!" Mr. Lewis screeched.

"By the way, Stiles," Sherry hissed, "We're meeting again today. Full lab report."

He shoved his paper. Again, his pen clattered to the floor.

"I said no talking!"

➵➵➵

For the first time, Stiles actually contributed to the work effort during their meeting.

"What's the molar mass of sodium chloride?" he asked, peering at Sherry's lab notes.

"Fifty-eight point four-four," she answered. "Nice to see you're trying."

"Do you have any friends?"

"I take that back," she muttered.

"Just asking," he defended. "You never hang out with anybody except for Mason."

"I used to have lots of friends at my old school," she declared. "Then I moved here and I discovered everyone is rude and arrogant."

"That's all that changed?" He was no longer pretending to work on the lab. He stared intently at Sherry, like he could figure her out like a jigsaw puzzle if he stared long enough. Maybe red laser beams would shoot out of his eyes and cut a window into her mind.

She kicked at the table legs, pushing her chair out farther. "For starters, everyone in Beacon Hills is way behind. I was average at my old school and now I'm two years ahead. I used to be in classes with kids my own age." She glared at Stiles. "Now, I'm stuck in classes with juniors, who, ahem, consider it below them to fraternize with fifteen-year-olds."

"We're friends with Liam!" Stiles protested.

"Because he's a star lacrosse player or something. He didn't seem like it when he choked on the field the other day."

"Hey!" Stiles held up a hand, formed it into a fist, stuck out his pointer finger, and pointed at Sherry. "We're talking about you."

"What if I don't want to be talked about? What if I want to get this lab done?"

"Then too bad for you," Stiles decided. "Don't you have English with freshmen?"

"Sure. Sometimes I can get them to say hi to me when I don't act too much like a know-it-all in class."

"Have you talked to Liam?" Stiles asked, as if that were the most brilliant idea the world had ever seen. "Liam is nice. Occasionally explosive, but nice."

She rolled her eyes. "Liam always ditches Mason and me when I'm around. He's learning from Scott and your pack. Once I started asking questions, it was time to ignore me."

"But Liam's nice," Stiles repeated blankly.

"You know, you're talking, but all I hear is 'I'm gonna freeload off of Sherry's lab grade.' "

"There are a lot of nice people out there," he said again. "Have you tried talking to them?"

One of the first lessons in the D.A.R.E. to Say No to Drugs program was to act like a broken record, repeating "no" over and over again like an alarm. That class, Sherry figured, must have been the only one in which Stiles paid a shred of attention. "You're misunderstanding me," she deliberated. "Do you think I just sit around, waiting for some stranger to make the first move? Everyone I speak to thinks I'm annoying or arrogant or rude. You're only talking to me because you got stuck with me for chem. You push me away any other time. Even my uncle has been acting distant lately, refusing to answer my questions and lying to me."

"That's not true," Stiles negated, but his voice had gotten significantly softer. "I love talking to you."

"Uh-huh," she stated blankly. "That's why you're always skipping out on me and acting skittish after I ask a few questions." Stiles just stared at her. "Right."

Stiles pushed himself off his chair, the wooden legs groaning and squealing against the tiled floor. "Hey," he invited, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs. "Let me show you something."

"I've already seen your mystery board," she complained. "I told you that."

He didn't reply. Glancing at him with a heavy sigh, she followed cautiously. He led her up the stairs, into his room, and pushed open the sliding window. He climbed out onto the roof and pulled himself over the next edge, his legs disappearing up and out of sight.

Appraising the situation doubtfully, Sherry clambered out onto the dirty roof shingles. The last time she was in this position, she'd jumped to save her life. Now, turning around carefully on the dusty shingles, she made a face. "This is so gross. Is this even safe?" Gingerly, she let her fingers touch the ledge on the roof and hoisted herself up.

Stiles was farther up, sitting near the apex of the roof. "It's fine. I do this all the time."

Sherry tottered up the gradient, placing each step deliberately. When she reached Stiles, she sat down hastily, bringing her knees to her chest and staring down the slant, where the nearest ground she could see was the cold, hard sidewalk. "Do you bring everyone you deem emotionally unstable up here?"

"Actually, I lied. I've only been up here once."

"Let me guess: when your mom died, right?"

"No," he chuckled. "When my dad unplugged my video game right before I almost completed it."

"You haven't brought your girlfriend?" She wasn't sure if he had one.

"Malia?" So he did. "She's not exactly the sentimental type."

"Neither am I."

Stiles studied her with that same overwhelming intensity as before, so unnerving that she bristled and sat up straighter. "No, you just pretend you're not."

"Really?" she retorted.

"Yeah!" he continued, as if it were obvious. "I'm a good detective." He lifted up his hand and ticked off each finger as he went. "You refuse to talk about your parents. Just now, you got butthurt about people ignoring you."

"I did not!"

"You keep attending school events, like lacrosse games and the bonfire, even though you apparently don't have any friends. This moment, right now? You're clearly enjoying it."

"Am I?"

"And, my buddy Scott is pretty skilled at determining people's emotional states and he told me so."

"So four out of those five points were guesses and you're basing your entire assumption off of what Scott told you."

"Pretty much," he admitted, sliding to rest on his back. "Was I right?"

She stared out at the horizon, a never-ending pattern of trees and rooftops. "Spot on."

He pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! One point for Stiles!"

"Are you going to spin a story about how this is your special place or something?"

"Well, it isn't. My special place is this campsite in the woods where I can park my car and get drunk and nobody will have to know."

"Wow, so heartwarming," she laughed. Oddly enough, she felt a grin getting etched onto her lips. The feeling that accompanied it was warm and free, like a marshmallow or a butterfly in summer. For the moment, the lab report due the next day completely slipped her mind.

She gazed up at the dusk sky, the California sunset illuminating the clouds like a celestial tie-die project. No stars were visible from amid Beacon Hills' light pollution, but miniscule lights blinked high up above their heads. Sherry leaned back against the roof shingles, tucking her hands behind her head like a pillow. The planes inched complacently across the sky, winking red and green. A waxing moon loomed imperiously in front of her eyes.

"When's the next full moon?" Sherry murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the gentle shadows and bumps on the moon's faraway surface.

"Tomorrow or so." His hand twitched, and Sherry could feel his pinky unintentionally nudge the side of her foot. Her instinct screamed at her to scoot away, even though it was just an accidental brush. Without thinking, Sherry folded her right leg over to the other side of her left, away from Stiles' chance touch.

➵➵➵

Stiles was excited. Sherry could tell, from the pace of his walk to the zealous way he rubbed his hands together and his amber eyes lit up. "I want you to meet someone," he said, hardly masking the ecstatic electricity in his voice.

She tagged along behind him, thoroughly frustrated with his constant prevarications. "Who?"

"I'm getting to that." He rounded a corner, entering an almost empty corridor. Ostentatiously, like one of those prize-presenting girls on a game show, Stiles flung out his hands in the direction of the sole inhabitant of the hallway. "Meet Liam Dunbar! Freshman, not exactly smart, prone to explosive episodes, but good thing he's buff and strong and a pro at lacrosse, that asshole." Stiles retracted his arms and tugged on his backpack straps, bouncing up and down on his toes expectantly. Liam turned around from his locker. "What do you think?"

"Is this your idea of an intervention?" Sherry demanded. " 'You don't have any friends your age, so I found one for you?' "

"No," Stiles enunciated, "This is my idea of matchmaking." He beamed. "Have fun!" Before Sherry could even think of jumping him and tearing his throat out, he spun around and fled.

After a moment of tense hesitation, Sherry turned back to look at Liam. With a smile that was intended to be polite, but appeared like a frightened grimace when executed, Liam raised a hand awkwardly and waved.


	9. Chapter 9

_↣So many people have come and gone↢_

_↣Their faces fade as the years go by↢_

_↣Yet I still recall as I wander on↢_

_↣As clear as the sun in the summer sky↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 9 ➵ Heartening**

* * *

 

Her thumb slammed on the controller. Onscreen, her heroine swung a pixelated broadsword at her looming enemy.

_**"Have you decided to stop ignoring me?"** _

Sherry fixated on the screen, blocking out her memory of the earlier afternoon. Her HP level bar shuddered, the red value sinking closer to zero.

_**"I wasn't trying to ignore you."** _

"No!" she groaned. Her character fell to the digital ground, her HP bar now firmly resting at naught.

"We can play again," Liam suggested.

"You're obviously going to win again," she whined. "You have Superman reflexes or something."

_**"You're trying to tell me that you sort of kind of accidentally on purpose ran away whenever I talked to Mason?"** _

_**"Scott told me not to get anyone involved."** _

_**"With what?"** _

"Okay, we can play another game," Liam tried. He searched around in the TV cabinet. "Revenge of the Oni. I never got around to playing that."

"Alright, fine," Sherry relented. "Maybe my experience will give me an upper hand." She doubted it.

_**"You- you don't know? Sorry. Sorry, I can't- it's not my business to tell."** _

_**"Okay. Then I won't make you. But if this has to do with Scott's CGI fias-"** _

_**"It doesn't!"** _

She thought, from her hours playing Revenge of the Oni with Mason, that maybe it would take Liam at least half an hour to overpower her again. She was wrong.

As soon as Liam got a hang of how to manage his avatar, he was putting down ninja assassins (a term Sherry considered humorously redundant) every other second. He cleared the first level before Sherry had even killed half her attackers.

_**"So Stiles wants us to hang out?"** _

_**"I... I want to. If you're up for it, I mean."** _

"I'm done!" Sherry declared, throwing down her controller. "Mason was right. There is literally no video game you can't win. Except maybe The Littlest Pet Shop."

"What's that?"

She laughed, reclining in the sofa. "Never mind."

"You're smart, right?" Liam asked. "I can't understand the proofs we're learning in geometry."

She rolled her head over to look at him. "Is that your way of asking for my help?"

He smiled sheepishly, staring down at his hands in that endearingly awkward way of his. "Yeah."

"So what don't you understand?"

Liam rolled off the sofa and staggered toward his backpack, rifling through the mess inside until he found what he was looking for. "Here."

She looked over the worksheet, frowning. "Which part?"

He made an erratic waving gesture. "All of it."

"Dude." She pointed at the first problem. "It asks you to do a proof. This is a circle. There is a triangle outside of the circle and tangent to it. What does that tell you?"

"The triangle and the circle really like each other?"

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "No. If you draw a line from the center of the circle to each of the tangent points, like so, you get right angles."

"Oh." He leaned over for a better look, his shoulder brushing Sherry's. She flinched, drawing away. "Is that for every tangent line?"

"Yes. Can you figure out how to solve it now?"

He stared at the paper, his eyebrows furrowing at the apparently labyrinthine problem. "I guess."

Sherry pushed the paper back to him and huddled in her dent in the couch, watching him as he attempted to prove the problem's statement. "There's a full moon tonight," she informed him spontaneously.

Liam froze. "Tonight?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I didn't realize it was tonight."

"Obviously. What's going on?"

He shoved aside his math homework, letting it flutter to the floor, forgotten. "I have something to do. Can you call someone to pick you up?" He spoke quickly, a nervous lilt in his voice. "I have to do something in my room." With that, he sprinted out of the room. Sherry could hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, followed by the slam of his bedroom door.

She was shaken and suddenly remembered that she'd left her bike locked up outside of school when she'd taken the bus with Liam to get to his house. Pulling out her phone, she called Parrish, but was greeted only by voicemail. She groaned, but left a message anyway.

"Hey, Jordan," she recited, "I'm at Liam's house and I kind of left my bike at school. Can you come get me? Thanks."

Whatever Liam was doing, she had no reason to intrude yet. She settled back into the couch and started on her homework. She worked for about half an hour, until something clattered upstairs, sounding like Liam had just dropped ten feet of chains onto the wood floor. Sherry glanced down at her phone. Should she call Parrish again? He was probably working on something important, she decided.

With a deliberate sigh, Sherry stuffed her phone back into the pocket of her drawstring capris. She hopped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top, she saw that all of the doors looked exactly alike, with nothing to distinguish which one was Liam's. She considered knocking on each door, but that plan was quickly thwarted when another crash sounded from the room down the hall.

She moved toward the door, the sounds of rustling and and metal scraping crescendoing as she got closer. "Liam?" she called. She rapped on the white door. "Liam? Are you okay?"

The noises stopped. "I'm fine!" His voice was low and throaty, almost like a growl.

"Did you break something?"

She could hear shallow breathing resonating through the interstices of the door frame. "I thought you left."

"I don't have a ride. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"Ask Scott," Liam bit out. "Or Stiles. For a ride."

"I don't want to inconvenience them. What are you doing in there that is so important?"

He didn't answer. The memory of Scott's glowing red eyes resurfaced in her mind. "The full moon," she realized. "That's... Liam? Are you sure you're not turning into a werewolf or something?" She meant it in a joking way, but she never got to know if Liam thought she was serious.

His window shattered. This time, Sherry already knew the sound of someone hurtling through glass. "Liam!" she cried, tugging at the door handle in vain. It refused to budge. The house was eerily silent.

She tore down the stairs and fished around in her backpack until finally she extracted a bobby pin from the debris at the bottom of her bag. She raced up the stairs again and fiddled with the door handle, jamming the pin into the hole in every way she could possibly fit it until the lock clicked. She kicked open the door, hyperventilating.

Heavy chains pooled next to the metal radiator. One link, snapped in half, was coated in shiny crimson blood. Sherry hovered over the broken window, staring down. Below, she could see a tiled patio floor, illuminated by the nearby streetlamps and the overhead moon. Liam was nowhere to be seen.

She whipped out her phone and called Parrish again, pacing Liam's room anxiously. After five tries, he still didn't pick up.

She tried the sheriff's number. Fortunately, he did answer. "Hello?"

"Sheriff! I need to talk to my uncle!"

"He's busy," he reprimanded. "Working on something important."

"It's an emergency!"

"You can tell me," he offered.

"No. It has to be him."

Sheriff Stilinski sighed. "This had better be as important as you say it is to justify me pulling an officer from duty."

The other end of the line crackled at gargled as the sheriff moved. She could faintly hear him in the distance, calling for Parrish.

"Sherry? What's wrong?"

She stared at the chains and the broken window. "Liam chained himself up, broke out, and then jumped out of his window."

"Is he okay?" Parrish was placatingly calm.

"I don't know. When I got into his room, he was gone. Why would he do that?" Sherry's voice shook.

"Don't worry," he commanded. "I'll be over there soon."

She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. "Okay."

Her phone beeped, signalling that the call had ended. With another glance out the window, Sherry plodded out of the room and back to her backpack. In a daze, she slipped her homework papers neatly into the pockets, fitting her pencil case into the niche available. Her actions were organized and smooth, yet her fingers trembled slightly. She sat down on the coffee table, hugging her bag to her chest as she stared out the front window. What would Liam's parents think when they came home from work?

Soon, pairs of headlights lit up the street outside. Sherry threw on her backpack and ran to the front door, unlocking it hastily. A team of official cruisers had not arrived. Instead, just Parrish's car and Stiles' jeep were parked out on the curb. Why Stiles? And then Scott stepped out from the passenger's side.

She cocked her head at Parrish. "What are they doing here?"

"Um, we're Liam's friends," Stiles stated obviously.

"Get in the car," Parrish coaxed. "Liam will be fine."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the three of them, but acquiesced, tramping over to her uncle's sedan and plopping down onto the scratchy seat. The door slammed shut, isolating her to the silence of the car.

Beyond the rolled-up window, Parrish, Stiles, and Scott entered Liam's home, huddling together and discussing matters unknown to Sherry.

Shortly afterward, Parrish came back out, his face still arranged into that serenely unaffected look of his. He slid into the car and started the engine. "Scott and Stiles will find him."

"But you're the sheriff's deputy."

"Yes, and I trust them to find Liam. Did you want to go back to school to get your bike?"

She had no idea how Parrish could be so calm. Maybe it was a perk of his job. "Yeah," she allowed meekly.

"Alright." He hesitated, then placed his hand gently on Sherry's shoulder and gave her an honest, comforting look. "Don't worry, Sherry."

As always, that was easier said than done.


	10. Mercurial

_↣Making all our plans in the Santa Cruz sand that night↢_

_↣Thought I had you in the palm of my hand that night↢_

_↣Screaming at the top of my lungs til my chest felt tight↢_

_↣I told myself that I'm never gonna be alright↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 10 ➵ Mercurial**

* * *

 

"What happened?" Mason yelped, looking frantically between Sherry and Liam.

Liam slunk into his chair like an abashed puppy.

"Of course you won't tell me," Mason muttered. "You never do."

Sherry leaned over to whisper in Mason's ear. "There was blood on the chains. It looked like he broke the metal."

"I swear he's on steroids," he complained. "The other day, he tried to bench three hundred pounds. He nearly died."

"Steroids?" She considered it. "Do they have side effects this strange?"

"One time someone I know got high and almost jumped out his window," Mason mused. "He didn't actually do it, though."

Sherry glanced at Liam, who stared gloomily at his hands. His eyes had that glazed over, daydream look and his skin showed no signs of any cuts or bruises.

"My uncle is a sheriff's deputy," she said. "I called him, but he was acting weird too. He didn't send over any actual officers, just Scott and Stiles."

"Liam didn't actually go missing, though," Mason amended. "He had no reason to cause a major fuss."

"Liam jumped out of a second-story window."

He nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

Movement by the cafeteria doors caught her eye. A gaggle of teenagers sauntered into the room, giving off a VIP air. Scott's group, Sherry realized, was no doubt at the top of the high school food chain. That thought, in any other situation, would have made her shy away from them, but things were different now. Something was wrong with Liam and it seemed that the only people who knew were Scott's clique.

She tapped Mason's shoulder. "I'll see if I can get anything from Scott and Stiles."

He perked up. "Can I come with?" On second thought, Mason looked hesitantly at Liam. "Actually, I'll stay to make sure this dude doesn't jump out another window."

She nodded slowly. "Okay." As she dodged crowded lunch tables to get to Scott, she felt Liam's hooded eyes following her gloomily.

Scott saw her coming before she even made a sound. He held up his arm in front of Stiles like a bar, signaling him to stop.

"Sherry!" Stiles exclaimed over-enthusiastically the moment he noticed her. "Had fun with Liam?"

She glared at him. "Sure, up until he fell out the window and nobody let me in on what was going on."

Sheepishly, Stiles scratched the back of his head. "He was just a little nervous."

She lifted her eyebrows. "A little?"

"Yeah!"

Crossing her arms, she stated, "If he wanted to ditch me that bad, he could've told me."

Stiles stared, gawking. "Are you serious or are you joking?"

"You decide."

He made a frustrated face, his chin and mouth scrunching up. "Anyway," he said.

"Stiles set you up with Liam?" Scott asked, a smirk playing at his lips. Sherry glared at him. "You still seem to be hanging out with Mason more."

She blinked. "Because he's my friend now and he's actually nice?"

"Stiles!" Malia appeared out of nowhere, grabbing his hand. She gave Sherry a curious glance before tugging her boyfriend away. Stiles spasmed, caught off guard, and followed after her doggedly.

"You know Mason is gay, right?" Scott checked.

"Of course!" she retorted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying. It's not good for your heart to fall in love with the first person you meet," Scott said.

She started, objecting, "I'm not in love with Mason!"

Scott gave her a look. "I didn't say that. But you like him."

Sherry stared at him. "Man, Stiles was right when he said you're good at reading people's emotions."

➵ ➵ ➵

Stiles leaned over the lab bench, his eyes flicking over to Mr. Lewis furtively. "So we finally did some research for you," he whispered. "We know someone who might be able to help you."

Sherry's heart skipped a beat. "You're kidding."

"No! His name is Chris Argent and he's a really good associate of ours."

She laughed. "Associate?"

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Stiles glanced at Scott guiltily. "Scott's dead ex-girlfriend's overprotective widower dad?"

"Not that," she blurted, alarmed.

Scott ambled over as if he had just heard what his friend had said. "Fred won't let me help him on the project," he complained. He shot Stiles a look. "Did you tell her?"

"About your connection to Argent or the other thing?"

He nudged Stiles aside and took over the conversation with Sherry. "Our friend Argent got into contact with the man who killed your dad," he explained. "He's part of a secret mafia-type organization and says he was just following orders."

Sherry's voice shook. "He said he wanted to kill me and my dad because my mom gave herself up to the police. He hated our guts."

"It's a hive-mind sort of thing," Stiles quipped unhelpfully. "They're all evil."

"Your mother was charged with selling government information, right?" Scott asked. Sherry nodded acutely. "The Calaveras operate on an honor code. They consider it their business to hunt down dangerous people and your mother had access to their files. When your mother admitted what she'd done, she put their entire organization in jeopardy. And she'd agreed to the code."

"She was blackmailed," Sherry protested. "She wouldn't have done what she did on her own accord! She was a respected government agent!"

"In the end, that doesn't matter," Scott stated. "Your father continued to try to press charges against the Calaveras. They warned him, but he continues to attack their secrecy, so they had no choice but to kill him."

Sherry didn't like the emotionless tone in Scott's spiel. "And what about me?"

"They thought you were in on it too." He faltered. "I'm not saying what the Calaveras did was right, but that's their logic. If you try to avenge your parents, you should expect that the Calaveras will revive their attempts to kill you."

"So you're telling me I shouldn't try to get justice for my parents?"

"Not until you know exactly what you're doing." As he moved, his T-shirt sleeve rode up, exposing the black ink of his tattoo.

"There was another murder two days ago," Sherry remembered distractedly. "Wolf-like but black circles around the body."

Stiles swiveled around to stare at her. Scott tensed.

Sherry studied them. "Did they ever find any clues?"

"The victim used to be my neighbor ten years ago," Scott said.

"And they think they know where the paint was bought from," Stiles added.

"All this is so terrible," she shivered. "Their families must be overwhelmed."

"We'll find the killer, I promise," Scott placated. "At least for this, I know there will be justice."

➵ ➵ ➵  

"Nervous?" Parrish asked, his hands tight on the wheel.

"A little," Sherry said.

"Only?"

Outside, the steel cables of the Bay Bridge raced past the sedan windows, blurring the view of the calm bay and marshy salt flats. Looming every closer was the jagged city outline, faded against the foggy sky. Somewhere, in the midst of all those skyscrapers, was Sherry's mother, hidden by the gray walls of County Jail #2.

"Will she be mad that it took me over a month to visit her?"

"Of course not," he hushed. "She'll be happy to see you."

Sherry nodded shakily, jiggling her leg up and down. She turned up the radio.

After awhile, they finally made it off the bridge, the car transitioning onto the pavement of San Francisco's busy streets. After much tortuous and steep uphill driving, Parrish parked the car by a curving, slate-colored building on 7th Street.

"Ready?" He got out of the car and pulled out his wallet, inspecting the parking meter.

Sherry stared out at the two county jails in front of her. Number one, she knew, was for temporary prisoners, a middle place for recently incarcerated inmates. Number two was where her mother was, the only jail in the county to house women. "Nope," she muttered. She adjusted her jacket and smoothed down her hair.

Parrish headed toward the doors, nodding courteously at the prison guards. For once, Parrish was in everyday clothes, not his drab deputy's uniform. Sherry sped to keep up with him, matching her steps with his. The building intimidated her, so she huddled against her uncle, her only safety and familiarity in the menacing place.

"We've scheduled a visit," Parrish told a man at the front desk. "Linda Ming?"

The man searched through the computer in front of him, his mouth set into a permanent frown. "10:40 to 11:10?" he asked. Parrish nodded. "Follow me."

The man led them out of the lobby, into a side corridor, and took several mechanic turns. They entered a room separated into two sides. A glass partition sliced through the center, dividing a long white table. Each booth was equipped with nothing but side walls and an archaic corded phone. Already, Sherry could see an orange jumpsuit on the other side of the window, waiting patiently.

She gasped and froze, anxious to go further. Parrish squeezed her shoulder. "You can do it, Sherry."

She looked up at him, her eyes timorous and wide. He gave her a nudge. Reluctantly, Sherry stepped into view of her mother, slowly taking a seat in the cold chair in the booth and picking up the phone.

Her mother smiled, her eyes crinkling fondly. Her blond hair, usually preened and glossy, was now dull and flat. "I missed you."

Sherry could barely speak. "I... missed you too, Mommy." When was the last time she'd called her that? At least eight years.

"How was the funeral?" she asked tentatively. The federal law prohibited prisoners from attending functions like funerals or weddings.

"I wish you were there," Sherry whispered. "I was surrounded by people I didn't know."

"You didn't invite your friends?"

"I couldn't," she said. "And I haven't seen them since I moved."

Her mother nodded understandingly. "I'm sorry, Sherry." She took a deep breath. "How is your new school?"

"Not as good as VCHS," she laughed softly. Her vision blurred and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the warm tears. "Some people are okay."

"Friends?"

"Yes, Mom."

"And how are your grades?"

It always came back to that subject. Even incarceration couldn't keep her mother from asking about that universally important topic. "I'm doing fine," Sherry said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone. "The classes are easy."

"That's good to hear. How has Jordan been?"

Sherry glanced briefly behind her, where her uncle leaned patiently against the concrete walls. He smiled comfortingly at her. "Best uncle I could ask for," she answered. "Sometimes he's busy, though."

"The irony. My cousin's a sheriff's deputy and I'm in the county jail," Sherry's mother chuckled. "I hope I'm not impeding his career."

"I don't think so," Sherry said. "Do you want to talk to him now?"

"I'd rather talk to you. You're my daughter."

Sherry stood up abruptly. "I don't know what else to talk about," she blurted, dropping the phone. Guiltily, she backed away. Her mother just watched her, a forlorn expression wavering on her face.

Parrish studied Sherry uncertainly, as if he was unsure whether to say something. Instead, he just sighed and walked over to dangling phone, bringing it to his ear and slipping into the hard chair.

For the next ten minutes, Sherry stared blankly ahead of her, watching the two of them converse in low tones. She barely noticed when they were done, needing a prodding from Parrish to resurface from her thoughts. She jerked her attention back to her mother, torn between leaving and going back to say more.

Her mother waved, a small smile etched onto her aging skin. There weren't any anti-aging skin creams in prison.

"Want to say anything more?" Parrish questioned.

She signaled a no silently. With one last glance at her mother, she fled from the room. Reluctantly, her uncle followed after. The heavy door clicked shut behind them.

Like she was on autopilot, Sherry retraced her steps back to the lobby, past the front desk, and to the car. Parrish unlocked the door, letting her in. Once they were both within the privacy of the car, he turned to Sherry with concern. "Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head minutely, her eyes drifting to look at something far ahead.

"You don't have to lock yourself away," he reminded her. "I'm here for you."

She sniffed, wiping at her eyes even though no tears were flowing. "She hates me now," she murmured.

"No, she loves you."

"I shouldn't have done that."

"That doesn't mean she hates you."

"I know you're disappointed in me," she whispered, her voice cracking. She clenched her fists within the fleece pockets of her jacket. "I just want to go home."

"I'm not disappointed in you," he reassured. "I know you're having tough times. And we'll go there after lunch, to pick up all your stuff."

"No," she said. "Not there. Home."


	11. Histrionic

_↣It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside↢_

_↣I'm not one of those who can easily hide↢_

_↣I don't have much money but boy if I did↢_

_↣I'd buy a big house where we both could live↢_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 11 ➵ Histrionic**

* * *

 

"We've got a break-in!" a deputy yelled, careening through the station. Sherry looked up from her homework, interested. She'd spent the last few weeks hanging out at the sheriff's station after school, taking over Deputy Haigh's desk. It had been empty since he was fired.

Sheriff Stilinski stood abruptly, raising his brows at the deputy. One arm hung limply by his side, cradled by a tan sling. Sherry couldn't quite remember when he'd first gotten it. "Care to elaborate?"

The deputy puffed, catching her breath. "We have security camera footage of the killer going into a store to steal black paint. The exact type that has been slathered over the scenes of the last four murders."

"Can we identify the culprit?"

She nodded wildly. "It's- it's Scott McCall."

"That's impossible," the sheriff spluttered. "The last victim..."

"Was Agent McCall's partner," she nodded. "I know."

Agent McCall, Sherry had come to learn from her time at the station, was Scott's father, a stern and impossibly tall FBI agent. Last week, he'd shown up in Beacon Hills to investigate the serial killings, but that move had only ended in tragedy. The next victim on the list was the agent's partner.

Sheriff Stilinski hesitated, a torn expression on his pink face. "Show me the video." Turning to Parrish, who had been listening from the side, he ordered, "Get him here. Now."

Parrish nodded, picking up his phone solemnly. Sherry just stared at the unfolding commotion, speechless.

It didn't take long for Scott, Stiles, and Scott's girlfriend Kira Yukimura to stumble into the double doors of the station. Gruffly, the sheriff, grabbed Scott's arm and ushered all three of them into his office. Parrish followed after, carrying a laptop with the security footage. The wooden door slammed shut behind them.

Unable to resist, Sherry got up and flagged down the deputy who had delivered the information.

"What's going on?" she asked, motioning to the secluded office. She glanced at the deputy's name tag and stared into her dark eyes anxiously. "Deputy Jones? Is Scott the murderer?"

Jones frowned, her chin crinkling. "That's not your business, kid."

"But Scott isn't a killer," she implored. He was about the purest person she knew, aside from that one incident with the fight at school. He might not be her friend, but he was close enough.

"You never know what secrets people might be hiding," Jones said. "I'm sorry. You'll just have to see how this one turns out."

Sherry turned back to the office, hoping to catch a glimpse of something substantial past the shaded window blinds, but all she saw were silhouettes.

➵➵➵

Something was off about the popular juniors' table that day. What was once a happy, rambunctious group was now sullen and silent. Five of them picked at their lunches without conversation while the bustle of high school lunchtime roared and surged around them. Out the door, past the foggy windows of the cafeteria, a familiar lacrosse captain sat against a lone tree.

Sherry pushed away from her table. Liam, as solemn as the juniors, pretended to read a book. Mason prodded him, cajoling, "Come on! Talk to me. I know you're not reading. You never read for fun." They hardly noticed when she slipped from the table and out the doors.

She had to rack her mind to remember the directions to the outside. Despite her many weeks at Beacon Hills High, she still didn't remember how to get to that part of the school. Finally, as she thought she'd ended up in the front office, she emerged from the school and stepped out onto dried golden grass. The desiccated plants crunched under her boots, the sounds somehow making the distance to Scott's ears.

He jumped a bit, staring at her in surprise. "Sherry?"

She sat down on the roots of the tree, right next to Scott. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," he said, rubbing his thumb on the dirt dusted on his sneakers.

"Are you upset because of what happened yesterday? At the station?"

"You're not worried I'm going to murder you?"

She tilted her head back, her straight hair catching in the bark of the oak. "You're not a killer, Scott," she said. Even sitting down, she was much shorter than the boy - she only had to look slightly to the left to meet his eyes.

"How do you know?" he asked. "You don't know me. My friends do, and they doubt me. Did you see the security footage?"

"No."

He crossed his arms. "It was really obvious. The me in the video was trying to get caught. He - I - looked straight into the camera and grinned."

"Then why aren't you in jail right now?"

Sighing, he replied, "They only have to examine the fingerprints in the store. Then I'm finished."

"But if you didn't do it," she said, "Then those won't be your fingerprints."

"I have a feeling they will be." He hesitated. "Sherry, can I ask you a favor?"

She perked up. "Yeah! Anything."

"If I get arrested, my friends will have no reason to believe I'm innocent. All the murders recently? Each one has been connected to me. First faintly, like my old neighbor, and now scarily closer, like my dad's partner. And my friends think you were right about my tattoo matching the black paint circles."

"So?"

"If I get arrested, Sherry, you're the only one who could possibly convince them I'm innocent. If I get arrested, I want you to come talk to me at the station." His voice softened, pleading timidly. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded slowly, puzzled, and watched him with open eyes. "Of course."

He smiled gratefully, squeezing her shoulder. "Go back inside. Liam has been dying to talk to you again."

She narrowed her eyes. "What about that thing you said before? About Mason."

"You like him," he restated plainly. "I can understand why. But, you're right, you're not in love with him. You just confused friendliness for flirting. You'll get over it. But Liam? Don't let him think he also got confused in the same way about you."

➵➵➵

"Need help with that?" Parrish hollered over the throb of pulsating pop music. Sherry's speakers, one of the many items they'd retrieved from her old house, blasted 99.7 NOW fm from her radio app. He staggered up the stairs, his arms filled with cardboard moving boxes.

"I've got it!" Sherry retorted, shoving together the pieces of her bed frame. "I did this before. Like three years ago."

He dropped the boxes on the wooden floor of the guest room, which, since the big move, had been Sherry's permanent bedroom. "Can you carry the mattress all the way up the stairs too?"

She glared at him, but was unable to hide her giggles. "Shut up, Jordan."

"That's a yes?" he asked. "I guess I'm done, then. Have fun bringing up your mattress by yourself." He sauntered out of the room.

Sherry dropped the screwdriver in her hand. "Jordan!" she whined, dashing after him. She tugged on his arm and hugged it, pouting. "Help me." She dug her feet into the floor, trying fruitlessly to stop him from moving.

He laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, alright, if you insist, Sherr-Bear."

He mussed up her hair, causing tangled tresses to fall in her eyes. She gasped. "You did not just call me that, Bore-dan Bear-ish."

Parrish's phone rang. His face falling, he answered it. "Hello?" He paused, listening, and gave Sherry an apologetic look. "It's the station."

He jogged down the stairs, grabbing his jacket from the banister. Then he was gone, leaving Sherry alone in the house with an abominable, unmovable mattress.

Two hours later, she received a call from Stiles. "Sherry," he said, with the sound of someone bearing bad news. "You're going to want to get down here. There's been an attempted murder."

"Why do I have to go there? And where?"

"The hospital, Sherry! Someone tried to kill Parrish."

➵➵➵

Sherry threw her bike down outside of the hospital, sprinting into the lobby. The first person she saw was Stiles, waiting impatiently in a scratchy cushioned chair. Nearby, Malia, Liam, Kira, and Lydia whispered among themselves. "Where is he?" Sherry demanded, trembling.

He shot up, his hands trying to steady her shoulders. She shoved his hands down, but he tightened his grip. "Tell me!"

"Sherry, listen," he soothed. "I need to talk to you."

"Scott didn't do it," she blurted.

His eyes flashed. "How did you- ?"

"Scott said each victim was more closely related to him than the last." She struggled. "Where is he?"

"The murderer lured Parrish to an empty parking lot. He tried to attack Parrish, but something went wrong. Okay, Sherry?" His eyes searched hers for any sign of understanding. "When help arrived, all they found was his body, covered in ash. Everything else within a ten meter radius was burnt and charred. There were splatters of black paint, but they were fried into dust."

Sherry was hyperventilating. She pressed two fingers to her neck, feeling for her pulse. She took deep breaths, hoping to calm herself. "How is he alive?"

"I don't know. No one knows."

"Can't we ask him? I want to talk to him!"

"You can't," Stiles stated, rubbing her arms in a way that was meant to be comforting. "He's in a coma."

She choked. This couldn't be happening. Not again. "I want to see him."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, resisting her attempts to slip away. He walked her down the hall, into an elevator. "Parrish will be fine," he said.

On the third floor, Parrish's room was the fourth down the hall. Sherry ran to his bedside, her eyes searching his body for signs of harm. But aside from her uncle's vegetative state, no injuries were visible whatsoever. The ash, apparently, had been cleaned off his skin. There were no scratches or gashes marring his body, nor any visible burns.

"You're his niece, right?" a woman asked. She wore green nurse's scrubs and had glossy black ringlets framing her tan face. "I'm Melissa McCall. I'm going to be attending to him until he wakes up again."

"McCall?" she wondered. "Like Scott?"

"You know Scott?" The nurse was taken aback. "He's my son."

"Where is he?" she asked, her hands clenching the white bed sheets in front of her. She hadn't seen Scott in the lobby.

"Detained. Scott's been arrested."

"What?"

"I know, he's gotten in some trouble lately and-"

"No," Sherry said. She took a wavering breath, staring down at Parrish. "I have to talk to Scott."

"I'm afraid that's going to be quite difficult, considering-"

"I promised him," she insisted. She tore her gaze from the hospital bed and stared at the nurse intensely. "I have to."

Mrs. McCall pursed her lips, studying Sherry. "Alright," she gave in. "He's at the sheriff's station."

Sherry nodded. "Thank you!" She burst out of the room, past a waiting Stiles, and into the elevator.

"Hey! Wait!" Stiles yelled. He raced into the metal box with her. "Where are you going?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why don't you believe Scott is innocent?"

"Huh?" He hadn't expected that question. "I want to, but there is too much evidence against him. There have been several security tapes unearthed since yesterday, showing Scott breaking into stores to steal black paint and deliberately getting his face in the camera. All the victims have some connection to him. His fingerprints matched up with those in the stores and at crime scenes. And... other things."

The elevator doors opened into the lobby. Sherry paid no attention to the stares and the shouts from Stiles as she ran out the doors and hopped onto her bike, which, miraculously, had not been stolen. She pedaled furiously, past the hospital complex, past several subdivisions, and finally parked outside of the sheriff's station, her calf muscles screaming and her lungs on fire.

She barged into the station, flagging down Sheriff Stilinski. "Where is Scott?"

"Sherry! You can't just see a murder suspect! And why aren't you with Parrish?"

She seethed. "Where's Scott? I promised I'd talk to him if he got arrested."

"You promised or he had you promise him?"

She couldn't see why it mattered. "He had me promise him."

The sheriff let out a tired sigh. "Alright, fine. Follow me."

She hadn't expected him to give in that easily. Without wasting a moment, she paced quickly after him. They turned into a side hallway, at the end of which was a heavy door. The sheriff unlocked it, ushering Sherry inside. She stepped into a concrete room gridded with metal bars and padlocks. In one of the cells, a familiar teenager slouched on a hard bench.

Scott straightened up, startled. "You're here!"

"Do you need me here, Scott?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, one hand poised on the door handle.

Scott shook his head. "No, sir."

The sheriff nodded and left, leaving the heavy door to click back in place.

"What's so important?" Sherry questioned, folding her arms.

"You're the only help I have left," he said. "And for you to help, I have something I have to tell you."

And then, just like that day he'd broken through the school window, Scott's eyes lit up, changing color like a supernatural hot iron - a bright, searing red.


	12. Incendiary

_↣Pressure pushing down on me↢_

_↣Pressing down on you, no man ask for↢_

_↣Under pressure that burns a building down↢_

_↣Splits a family in two↢_

_↣Puts people on streets↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 12 ➵ Incendiary**

* * *

 

 

"I knew it," she said.

"You did?"

"Well, I didn't believe it, and I still don't, but I knew it. You're a terrible liar."

"That's not the point," Scott pressed. "What's important is that you were the only one who saw that fight at the school."

She blinked, sitting down at the bench opposite the cell. "Why?"

"Because," he said, "Everything that's been happening lately - the murders, the slander - it's all been the work of one pack."

"Pack of werewolves?" she repeated. "Like yours?"

"Yes. They're really good at hiding. They haven't left any evidence behind, haven't shown themselves to anyone but me." He watched her carefully. "One beta approached me with a message. He said his alpha wanted to see me suffer and started threatening my friends. I got angry, and then he threw me through the school window."

"That was the fight I saw," Sherry concluded.

"And that was the only clue I had. And since I'm a werewolf," he extended his hand, flicking out his claws, "My claw marks look exactly like those at the murder scenes. So since no one else was inclined to believe there was a psychopathic alpha in town, and the murders were very much connected to me, there was no reason they wouldn't believe the security cameras that clearly had my face plastered all over them."

"So no one believes you're innocent."

"I'm sure they want to believe I'm innocent," Scott said, "But in this situation, they're forced to treat me like the villain."

"Do you want me to tell them that I know there's another pack?" she asked, confused. "I doubt they'd believe me, either."

"You're my only chance," Scott pleaded. "I have to stop the alpha from killing any more people. I can't do that from in here."

She nodded. "I'll try, Scott. And anyway," she added, "If you're in here and your doppelganger makes another move, it'll be obvious it wasn't you."

"All I have to do is stay in this cell," Scott murmured. "Sounds easy, right?"

"I trust you," Sherry said, trying to smile. "Hopefully Parrish will wake up soon. And then he can tell us what attacked him." She paused, thinking. "He knows about you, right?"

Scott nodded slowly, as if expecting her to blow up about lies and how she couldn't trust her uncle anymore.

Instead, she was indifferent. "I thought so," she stated. "Who else knows?"

"Stiles, Liam, Kira, Lydia, and Malia. The sheriff. My mom. Mr. Argent and the Calaveras. And a few others."

"The Calaveras?" she repeated, stiffening.

"They're hunters," Scott explained. "They go after supernatural creatures who hurt people. That's why they used your mom. They needed her to bring them files on people they wanted to track down."

She breathed in sharply. "Did my mom know?"

"I don't know," he apologized. "I'm sorry. I'd guess probably not, though."

She nodded, steadying herself. Sometimes too much information was overwhelming, and she definitely hadn't asked to know this much. "No wonder everyone was avoiding me," she laughed weakly. "I ask the wrong questions way too often."

➵➵➵

Stiles was still at the hospital when she came back. He ran to her when she showed up, his eyes wide and concerned. "Where were you?"

"Talking to Scott," she answered. "And I know he's a werewolf now, so maybe someone can tell me what really happened with Parrish."

His mouth opened and closed like an idiot. When he finally got his wits back, he replied, "We don't know what happened to him, Sherry. That's the truth."

She plopped into the nearest waiting room chair, far away from the rest of Scott's pack. "Do you think Scott's innocent?"

He frowned. "I don't know what exactly to think."

She stared into his amber eyes, studying him. "Remember that time he tried to convince me I saw CGI?"

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, sitting down on the glass table of magazines. "Yes."

"Let me guess: You don't think there was actually someone else there."

"All the evidence points against it. And I'm a very logical person."

"I was there," she insisted. "And I saw with mine own eyes a werewolf with glowing yellow eyes and spurts of wolfy hair on his cheeks. He looked evil. Like he wanted to kill Scott."

"That doesn't change the fact that Scott was clearly caught on the security tapes."

"No," she persisted. "Listen. You like logic, right? I'm a witness. I saw the other beta, which means there really is a crazy evil pack out there. Neither Scott nor the beta knew I was there, so Scott couldn't have planned for me to see that."

"Alright," Stiles allowed, "If there were another pack out there, where did they get a Scott clone? That isn't possible."

"Werewolves are possible," she said. "Kitsunes? Banshees? Those are possible. So why not clones or a shape-shifter? Do you really think Scott would try to get caught? Or deliberately murder people?"

"I don't know," Stiles bit out. "We'll see if another murder happens. We'll see what Parrish says when he wakes up. Then we can decide whether or not Scott is clear."

She sighed, standing up. "I'm going to visit my uncle." She plodded over to the elevator, her hands stuffed in her pockets. As she stepped inside, she turned around and saw Liam slouching tiredly in one of those cushy chairs. He looked up at her just as she set her eyes on him and clumsily shot up, making toward her hopefully. The metal doors closed, and it was silent for several extended moments until Sherry reached the third floor.

Then the noise and bustle of doctors, nurses, and patients resumed, flooding into the elevator space. Sherry moved down the hall softly, dodging the stream of people. Parrish's room was empty, but for his peaceful body and the steady beep of regulating machines. She settled into the armchair by his bed, folding her arms on the sheets and resting her head on her forearms.

"You were supposed to help me move my mattress," she whispered. "Not go find another one and pass out on it."

➵➵➵

She had considered spending all of Sunday at the hospital, showing her support, but ultimately she just needed to be alone. She rode home at midnight, falling into her makeshift bed without a second thought. It consisted of a scratchy air mattress, several fuzzy blankets, and two oversized pillows. Her real bed would have to wait until Parrish got back.

Early Sunday morning, Sherry's phone rang. Grumbling, she debated whether it was worth getting up at seven a.m. for. She tapped answer and placed the call on speaker.

"Hi."

"Oh, Sherry, thank God!" Stiles.

"What do you want?" She yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"You were wrong about Scott," he said, his voice wavering and upset.

"No, I wasn't."

"Sherry, there was another break-in last night and he killed the cashier. When we got to the station, the cell door was ripped off."

"Was Scott there?"

"Yeah, but he could've come back from the murder. When they entered the room, the first thing he said was 'I didn't do it.' How did he know something had happened?"

"The other pack," Sherry tried. "They slandered him and ripped out the door to frame him."

"Those bars were strong, okay? Only an alpha could've ripped those the way he did."

"The other alpha, then," she insisted.

"No, alright? There's no proof another alpha even exists. They're shipping Scott off to another facility tonight. He's done."

The call ended.

Sherry punched her pillow furiously. She couldn't stand Stiles' finality. She knew Scott was innocent. He had to be, but no one believed her and she had no other arguments to go off of. She took heavy, trembling breaths, rolling over onto her stomach. Burying her head in her pillow, she clenched her fists on the pillowcase and squeezed her eyes shut. Why couldn't anything ever go right?

It wasn't long after that Sherry fell asleep again.

At about three p.m, she finally rolled out of bed and ate a belated lunch, not bothering to take a shower. She knotted her hair into a bun and left the house wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants. The hospital was busy as usual. When she got there, the whole gang was already hanging out in the lobby.

They all looked upset and solemn, but Lydia, the redheaded girl, looked particularly distressed, staring blankly at the elevator doors. The rest of them talked among themselves quietly.

Sherry didn't quite feel like going up to Parrish's room since she already knew what she was going to see. Instead, she curled up in a waiting room chair in a deserted corner of the room. She picked up a gossip magazine and flicked through the pages disinterestedly, secretly pleased to see that she wasn't the only one in the world dealing with misfortunes. One actress, for example, had been caught on camera without makeup - a practical atrocity to the magazine writers.

"You're finally here," an annoying voice observed.

"Go away, Stiles," she muttered.

"I didn't want you to be wrong, either," he admitted. "I wanted to believe in Scott."

"I'm not wrong," she repeated. "Go away."

"Don't you want to-"

"I don't want to talk to anyone," she insisted, staring daggers at the magazine page. "Not even you."

"Guys!" someone exclaimed. "Scott just texted me."

Sherry's and Stiles' heads swiveled in Kira's direction immediately.

Kira stared around her in confusion. "He wants to meet me at my house."

"Why?" Stiles blurted. "Does he want to kill you?"

She stood up, tucking her phone in her pocket. "I guess I'll find out, huh?"

"I thought he was in jail," Liam wondered. "They wouldn't let him out of their sight."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, and he can't have access to his phone."

Kira shrugged, her eyes wide. "I have to go. I'll text if something happens." She left the hospital, leaving the rest of them in bewilderment.

Stiles rushed back over to the friends, leaving Sherry alone, much to her satisfaction.

Not five minutes later, a flustered nurse with dark curly hair ran from the elevator, rushing madly toward Stiles and friends.

"You're going to want to see this," Mrs. McCall panted. "I've never seen something like this in my life."

All four of them that remained shot up in confusion, following the nurse to the elevator. Random spectators stared, puzzled expressions on their faces.

It wasn't until the elevator doors closed that Sherry realized what Mrs. McCall had meant. Something was wrong with Parrish.

She bounded from her chair, racing through the lobby past patients and parents. The elevator was still going up. She veered around the corner, bursting into the stairwell and taking it two at a time. She reached the third floor shortly after the rest of them, out of breath and her heart pounding.

They didn't even notice when she filed into Parrish's room behind him.

Immediately, the stench of smoke and burning cloth caught in Sherry's nose, making her hack and cough. The room was thick with charcoal smog, fueled by Parrish's incinerating sheets. Where his hands clenched the sheets so tightly his knuckles were shaded white, the clean cotton smoldered, thin wisps of dark smoke drifting between the interstices of his fingers. Everything emanated the reek of flames.

Mrs. McCall had grabbed a fire extinguisher and aimed it at the sheets, ordering, "Step away!"

A jet of cloudy foam sprayed from the nozzle, coating Parrish's hands and sheets to no avail. The foam sizzled and evaporated.

"Get water!" Mrs. McCall barked. "Fill two buckets with ice!"

Stiles and Lydia dashed off with a few nurses, trying to acquire buckets from somewhere in the hospital.

"What's going on?" Sherry squeaked, staring at her uncle. Parrish, unlike everyone else in the room, looked complacently calm and unperturbed as he slumbered in the eye of his own storm.

Liam and Malia pulled at the sheets, attempting to pull them out from his fists. The fabric ripped along the scorch lines, the edges disintegrating into black ash. On the count of three, the two of them nodded at each other and yanked Parrish's arms off the bed.

It was like trying to uproot a century-old tree. They strained and tugged, moving the deputy's arms away from his body inch by inch. Malia, her hands at Parrish's forearms, started backward, her reddened hands releasing him as she yelped in pain. A moment later, Liam, with his hands closer to Parrish's elbows, did the same.

"He burned us!" Liam exclaimed, shocked.

"We have ice!" Stiles hollered, appearing around the doorway. He skidded to a halt, a wave of chilly water splashing over the side of his orange Home Depot bucket.

Lydia was next to him, halting without spilling a drop. "Now what?"

Mrs. McCall looked pointedly at Liam and Malia. "I need you to get his hands in those buckets," she explained. She made an erratic waving motion. "Hurry!"

Malia took a deep breath and slammed down on Parrish's arms, shutting her eyes to avoid thinking about the searing heat. "I'll heal. I'll heal," she muttered to herself, repeating the statement like a mantra. Liam groaned through clenched teeth, shoving down as hard as he could on Parrish's stiff arm. Slowly, excruciatingly, the incendiary hands lowered into the buckets of ice water. The water hissed as Parrish touched it, the ice dissipating into liquid.

Soon enough, it seemed that he had cooled down. Sherry and the others watched with bated breath as what had been gallons of ice melted into pints and all that was left were minute slices bobbing at the top like butter on a pancake griddle.

Nothing melted after that. The remaining ice stayed visible. Malia glanced around apprehensively, then squatted next to the closer bucket and dipped her fingers in. "Room temperature," she announced.

Sherry heard a collective sigh from the room's occupants, relieved that the latest danger had been averted.

Stiles' phone rang, blasting inappropriately timed Spice Girls. Blushing he, answered the call hastily. "Yeah?" He listened, nodded to himself, and finally hung up, addressing the room. "Kira found something. She's with Deaton now." He stared at Sherry. "Turns out maybe Scott was right about something else happening in Beacon Hills."

"What happened?" Sherry interrogated, eyes timorous.

"Scott tried to kill her." He paused. "But it wasn't Scott."


	13. Defame

_↣Remember when we couldn't take the heat↢_

_↣I walked out and said, "I'm settin' you free,"↢_

_↣But the monsters turned out to be just trees↢_

_↣And when the sun came up, you were lookin' at me↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 13 ➵ Defame**

* * *

 

They all gathered at the local veterinary clinic, a place Sherry hadn't even seen until just then. From the outside, the clinic appeared mundane - it had cute little cartoon cats and dogs drawn onto the marquee and a welcoming lobby.

She followed Stiles, Lydia, Malia, and Liam through the building, passing by the deserted entryway and into a back room that was all sharp metal edges and shiny silvery surgical equipment. Inside, Kira sat on the center operating table, wiping down a thin, curved sword. A katana, Sherry realized, at the same time identical and completely unlike the virtual version from Revenge of the Oni.

A stern-looking man with a smooth bald head waited for them, his hands folded behind his back. He had a name tag that shone under the harsh fluorescent lights. Dr. Alan Deaton, DVM. He eyed Sherry uncertainly, but dived into an explanation anyway. "You all have a fair idea of what just happened, am I correct?"

"Scott tried to attack me, but I sliced him with my katana," Kira said, making a swinging motion for emphasis. "He barely bled, just looked really shocked and ran away. So I followed him, and he ended up going into to a sewer. By the time I got down there, he was gone - except for this," she gestured to a metal tray behind her, grimacing, "Strewn... everywhere!" She waved her arms about.

Sherry hadn't noticed the tray or its contents when she came in. Now, she was glad she hadn't. What looked like pale, ripped up flesh was piled into one grisly heap.

"What is it?" Malia asked, grimacing.

Deaton set a heavy book onto the table, an ancient-looking volume strangely similar to the small tome Parrish had been engrossed in the other day. He flipped to a page somewhere in the center, pointing at a black-and-white illustration. "There haven't been any recorded cases of shapeshifters for centuries." He gestured toward the tray of flesh. "Shapeshifters must shed their skin, teeth, nails, and hair in order to assume the form of another person. They can turn into any person as long as they've seen them, either in real life or in pictures."

"So a shapeshifter has been pretending to be Scott this whole time?" Stiles gawked. "That explains everything."

Deaton cocked his head. "Like what?"

"He's been acting strangely for about a month," Stiles said. "Sometimes he forgets small things or doesn't remember something I told him an hour ago."

"And one time, he agreed to go on a double date with us," Malia added. "Kira showed up, but Scott ditched. The next day, he claimed we never told him about the date."

"We also went to a police investigation," Stiles continued, a slightly bitter tone in his voice. "He forgot the orders and completely messed up the case. The burglar ended up shooting my dad in the shoulder."

Sherry remembered seeing the sheriff wearing a sling some time ago. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time.

"Then Scott said he had been out of the way the entire time. He swore he didn't alert the burglar that we were there. I thought he was lying to save his own ass. He couldn't understand why I didn't trust him for a while after that."

"So was the shapeshifter the one killing everyone?" Lydia questioned.

Deaton shook his head, stroking his goatee. "Shapeshifters, as far as the lore goes, can only assume the shape of humans. That means no werewolves."

"So someone else is doing the killing," Stiles concluded, agitated. "Who?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lydia interjected. "Scott was telling the truth the whole time. There is another werewolf pack out there."

"But there haven't been any signs of a pack anywhere in Beacon Hills," Kira pointed out. "Nobody could smell the scent of other wolves and there hasn't been any evidence, like pack symbols or anything. We already went over this."

"Even Scott couldn't smell anything," Stiles said. "Unless that wasn't Scott speaking."

"Remember," Deaton noted, tapping his fingers on the book, "Experienced werewolves have learned how to hide their scents. Satomi's pack did that."

"So if Scott really is innocent," Stiles said, "How are we going to get him? He's getting transferred tonight!"

"I'll have to make a few calls," Deaton said grimly, "But for now, we have work to do."

Simultaneously, everyone turned to look at the pile of skin on the tray.

"I followed the shapeshifter into a sewer," Kira said. "Shifters shed down there to mask what they're doing. We need to track ours and follow it to where the pack is hiding out."

➵➵➵

The streets of the city were essentially deserted at two a.m. when Sherry emerged with everyone else to stake out the plethora of sewer entrances. Deaton had separated them into groups, giving each a plastic baggie of reeking skin.

Down the street, Stiles, Malia, and Kira strolled on the barely illuminated sidewalk toward the manhole Kira had originally followed the shapeshifter to. Streetlights above their heads flickered, cocooned by swarms of moths and casting an eerie glow on the midnight city. In front of Sherry, Lydia pestered Liam, repetitively asking whether or not he'd picked up on a scent.

Liam sniffed the air, retorting, "No! I can't smell anything. Why don't we try the next manhole?"

"The shifter had to come out from somewhere," Lydia persisted. "It didn't come out from the other one."

"I know! I'm working on it!"

Lydia huffed and dragged behind, falling into step with Sherry. "You haven't talked much," she observed. "Or at all, actually."

"Do I have to?" Sherry muttered. "I'm tired."

"We're all tired," Lydia said. "We all have school in five hours. You're something else."

"I came to help, not talk."

Lydia linked her arm with Sherry's, one of her characteristic popular girl traits. Sherry was too exhausted to resist.

"Whatever's going on, telling someone about it always helps."

Sherry sighed, staring ahead with droopy eyes. "Not always."

"Well, I'm here," Lydia reminded her. "You may not know me, but I'll always help a sister in need."

"Got something!" Liam called, halting by a rosebush at the edge of someone's front yard. He leaned forward, sniffing it, and jumped back in surprise when a thorn pricked his nose. "The scent is really clouded, but the shifter definitely bumped against this bush."

Liam began to walk again, sniffing intently at the air. Lydia and Sherry followed at his heels, Lydia far more invested in the situation than Sherry. She just wanted to go home.

"You're friends with Liam, right?" Lydia asked, trying to ignite a conversation once again.

Sherry grunted.

"Well, why aren't you talking to him?"

She glared at Lydia. "I don't want to."

Ahead of them, Liam nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

Sherry glanced at the redhead. "He can hear whatever we say, right?"

She pursed her lip-glossed lips. "Yep."

Liam paused, veering toward the empty street. The girls followed him, unable to see if there was indeed a manhole ahead of them through the foggy darkness. There was.

Liam dug his fingers into the lid, trying to displace it. After a few groans, he managed to lift the cement slab out and onto the asphalt. The tar and cement scraped against each other unpleasantly.

Looking slightly green under the yellow light, Liam turned around and lowered himself carefully down the stepladder. "Last time I was thrown in a hole, I almost died," he muttered to himself.

Lydia let go of Sherry's elbow, nudging her. "You go first."

Paling, Sherry stuck one foot into the hole and climbed down the grimy ladder, hoping her clothes wouldn't stink like rubbish forever. The farther down she went, the less light was available, until all she could see was the silhouette of Lydia descending above her and a circle of hazy, light-polluted sky.

She felt slippery concrete beneath her sneakers and gingerly let go of the ladder. She couldn't see anything in the pitch-black tunnel underground, and had to concentrate on breathing normally to stay somewhat calm. She groped for the wall and flattened herself against it so that Lydia wouldn't land on her.

She felt pressure on her left hand and started, heart hammering. A cold hand squeezed hers gently. "I'm right here," Liam whispered. He was trying to sound brave, Sherry realized, but as squeak in his voice gave away a hint of fright.

Lydia touched down and rummaged around in her bag, making rustling sounds as she searched. Then she stopped. A click sounded, and suddenly there was light, a sufficient beam that illuminated the path the three of them were on and reflected off the stream of contaminated water. Sherry pulled her hand away from Liam.

"Which way?" Lydia asked.

Liam tasted the air, disgust evident on his face, and pointed right. "The smell blends in with all the rotten stuff down here."

Lydia nodded, trekking down the walkway. Sherry and Liam hurried after her, not wanting to get lost in the dark. Sherry stared at the rounded ceiling, suddenly aware that she was walking in a giant garbage pipe. The air was suffocating. She was almost certain that the composition of the atmosphere down here was not 70% nitrogen, but 70% vaporized excrement.

There was little excitement for what felt like half an hour until something crunched under Lydia's feet. The girl yelped, shining the flashlight on whatever she'd stepped on.

"Glasses," Lydia said. "And they're bloody." She turned the light to the areas closed by, searching for anything else. "But where's the owner?"

"I can smell more blood," Liam hesitated. "It's sharp and fresh, not like the rest of the stench."

Cautiously, they edged forward, wary of anything distinctly crimson. "Found it," Lydia announced. She reached a corner, around which there was a small tool closet. Two bodies were sprawled across the sidewalk, feet in the closet and arms hanging into the grimy water.

The two service workers were matted with drying blood. Their fluorescent yellow vests were splotched with brown and the plastic threads pulverized in the front. Their necks were slashed to pure red and their bellies ripped open. All that considered, their deaths didn't look quite as painful as the body Sherry had seen in the woods the other day.

Lydia shuddered, stepping gingerly over the two ex-men.

"I take it that wasn't the shifter?" Liam questioned. Sherry continued to the other side of the men, a queasy feeling building up in her gut. She stepped on a pool of gooey blood over a plastic sheet, her foot slipping out from underneath her.

Everything was getting closer. She flailed her arms, trying to gain balance again, to no avail. She plummeted backwards, into the dead bodies or sewer water she was unsure. She didn't know which was worse.

And then she wasn't falling anymore. Her face was inches from Liam's, his blue-green eyes wide as plates with panic. He helped her steady herself with his strong arms, yelping, "Are you okay?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the water she almost fell into. She inhaled sharply, her breathing shaky. "Yeah," she whispered. "Thanks."

Lydia turned around. "What happened?"

Sherry moved away from Liam quickly. "Sorry," she apologized. "I tripped."

Lydia's eyes flicked between the two freshmen, her eyebrows raised. "Alright. Well, don't fall." She faced the front again, resuming her subterranean trek.

Sherry hastily caught up with the other girl, refusing to look back at Liam. He tapped her shoulder anyway, retracting shyly.

She looked at him. "What?"

"You sure you're okay? You smell really anxious," he mumbled.

"You can smell that?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Chemical signals."

"So that's how Scott does it." She hesitated. "Why didn't any of you trust Scott? Even I trusted him."

"The shifter is really good at pretending to be Scott badly. He'd get us to trust him, to have him promise things he'd never carry out. Plus, it's really hard to argue with video surveillance."

"I thought Stiles and Scott were best friends."

"Yeah. And then Scott got Stiles' dad shot." Liam wrinkled his nose, repulsed. "What is that smell?!"

"Guys!" Lydia hissed. "Look!"

There was translucent flesh spattered everywhere, sticking to the cement walls, clumped on the ground, and drifting on the murky water.

"Agh," Liam said. "So did the shifter go in from the manhole or come out? If he went in, he sure waited a long time to shed."

"He came out," Lydia affirmed. She moved slowly through the explosion of skin, studying it. "See? The biggest mass is farthest away. The closer it gets to the manhole, the smaller and more spread out the pieces are." She continued walking, past the grisly scene, expecting Sherry and Liam to catch up. "If we follow this path, we'll end up at the shifter's hideout."

"I'll man the flashlight," Liam offered. "So I can sense any converging paths."

Lydia considered him. She pursed her lips, handing over the flashlight and linking her arm with Sherry's again. Once Liam was far enought ahead, Lydia leaned into Sherry's ear and whispered. "You two are cute together. I can see where Stiles was coming from." She smiled smugly and looked straight ahead.

Sherry choked. "What?"

"I am an expert at flirting. I can tell."

Sherry shook her head hopelessly. "I don't understand you."

"But I understand you."

"No-"

Ahead of them Liam waved his arm, meekly trying to call attention to himself. He stood at a fork in the path, a T shape in the tunnel. "This way has a thicker scent," he said, pointing left. "That means he went this way multiple times. The right side smells weaker, so he didn't go that way for a while."

"To go left, we need to cross the water," Lydia observed, her pale skin flushing a conspicuous hue of chartreuse.

Liam inspected the stream, judging the distance. "You could make it if you jumped."

Lydia squirmed. "Well, good thing I decided not to wear my Jimmy Choo's today."

"Why would you wear heels into a sewer?" Sherry couldn't help but ask.

"I wasn't planning on going in a sewer," Lydia retorted. "Why do you think I'm still wearing this skirt and white cardigan?"

She didn't know how to respond. "Okay."

Liam backed up around the right corner, the flashlight gripped tightly in his hand. Taking a running leap, he covered the gap with ease, scrambling to a halt on the other side. He grinned, proud of himself. "Your turn." He shined the light on the gap, lighting up the two walkways and the sewage in between.

Sherry eyed Lydia, causing the strawberry blonde to huff and move backward a few steps. Taking a deep breath, she sprinted across the walkway and tumbled daintily onto the other side. Sherry did the same, using the curb of the raised sidewalk as a launchpad.

One foot hit the other side first. The other foot slipped, sinking down the curved pipe. Sherry drew her foot up and onto steady cement hastily, another crisis averted.

The trio made their way down the stretch of the seemingly endless sidewalk again, continuing for quite a while until sounds that were not their own began to grow louder.

"I hear voices," Liam stated. "Coming from somewhere ahead."

"Who is it?" Lydia pressed. "The shifter?"

He scrunched up his face in concentration. "I can't tell."

"You're our bodyguard," Lydia pointed out. "Can you control your wolfing out?"

"Yeah," Liam defended.

The noises were warbled by the eerie echoes of the sewer's round walls. The three of them neared another turn, tensing as they prepared to face what might be around the corner. The noises had dissipated. Clearly, whoever was causing them had realized that silence was more powerful. All they could hear was the crunch of shoes on dank ground.

Liam's eyes flashed yellow and his claws flicked out from his fingertips. One. Two.

He jumped out around the corner, growling. Three.

"Wait!" a familiar voice cried. Kira.

Quickly, Lydia and Sherry turned the corner, seeing Stiles, Kira, and an aggressive Malia. Malia and Liam relaxed, their faces easing to look more human. The glow in their eyes subsided.

"Did you follow the scent here?" Stiles interrogated.

Liam nodded. "Yeah, the shifter has been on this path several times."

Lydia stared at something, taking the flashlight from Liam's hand and pointing it up. "Guys," she said.

They'd converged on the shifter's door. A step ladder led up a narrow shaft, leading up to the surface.

Kira grabbed the highest rung she could reach, pulling herself up without a word. In a quiet procession, the six of them emerged from the sewers. Stiles brought up the rear, pushing the manhole cover back into place.

The group stood in front of a deserted section of the Beacon Hills Preserve, the dawn sun beginning to stain the sky a light pink. Ahead of them stretched a gloomy trail through the woods, at the end of which they could barely make out a cabin with tendrils of smoke trailing from the nearly concealed chimney.

"Great," Stiles muttered. "A creepy cabin in the woods. Exactly where I'd like to confront psychopathic killers."

"Let's attack now," Malia suggested. "I want to kill all of them."

Stiles was startled. "No, that's not what we're doing! If we go now, without a plan, we're dead!"

"We have to tell Deaton," Lydia said. "Then we'll come back prepared."

Malia growled. "Then can I kill all of them?"


	14. Belligerent

_↣Howling ghosts – they reappear↢_

_↣In mountains that are stacked with fear↢_

_↣But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.↢_

_↣And in the sea that's painted black,↢_

_↣Creatures lurk below the deck↢_

_↣But you're a king and I'm a lionheart.↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 14 ➵ Belligerent**

* * *

 

 

"How can we attack them if we don't have Scott?" Liam wondered, a timorous look on his face.

Deaton set his mouth into a grim line. "I'm having someone work on getting him out, but I don't know when or if he's going to be released. Remember," he said sagely, "What matters is not who you have on your team, but how you work together. You have to exploit the pack's weaknesses. Play to your strengths."

"Our strength is Scott," Malia pointed out. "He's a true alpha."

Deaton frowned. "There is always a way to win. If the pack doesn't know you're coming, you have the element of surprise. And while they have all werewolves, you have a kitsune, a banshee, and a werecoyote."

"But no alpha," Liam said.

"Find the other pack's weaknesses," Deaton repeated. "Will their alpha do anything to hurt Scott? Will he try to protect his pack or will he put himself above everyone else?"

"We literally know nothing about this alpha," Stiles commented bitterly. "No member of the pack has shown their face except that one time to Scott."

"But we have to fight them anyway," Malia added. "Before they kill anyone else. Like one of us." She looked around for approval.

Stiles nodded. "They're attacking people close to Scott."

"We can handle them, though," Kira said. "They tried to attack Parrish and he came out mostly unharmed. The shapeshifter attacked me and he was almost surprised that I fought back."

"So they've completely underestimated us," Malia concluded positively. "They don't think we can fight back. We'll show them who's in charge."

Deaton set his hands on the metal operating table. "What's the plan, then?"

➵➵➵

"Ms. Ming!" Mr. Lewis's disparaging voice cut across the classroom. "This is A.P. Chemistry, not C.P. Dream Psychology." He shook his head. "I had such high expectations for you. Moving on." He began to sketch a questionable-looking VSEPR diagram on the whiteboard.

Sherry reddened, sitting straight up in her desk and rubbing her eyes drowsily. At the desk next to her, Stiles snored loudly, his face pressed against his notebook and drool pooling on the lined paper. Clearly, Mr. Lewis had given up even trying to reprimand Stiles for his slacking behavior.

When the bell rang, Sherry poked Stiles. "Hey. Lunch time."

"Mhr," he murmured unintelligibly.

She rolled her eyes and, with a swift tug, jerked his notebook out from under his cheek. Stiles' head slammed onto the wooden desk, effectively waking him up.

He bolted up. "What's going on?"

Sherry handed him back his notebook, holding the slobber-sodden part away from her. "It's lunch time, doofus."

Stiles melted back into his desk. "I'm fine, thanks."

She shrugged. "Fine." She headed out the door, making it about four steps down the hall when Stiles skidded into the hall, looking wild and disoriented.

"I didn't mean literally!"

She laughed at the sight. His dark hair stuck out at odd angles and blue ink stained his cheek from his open notebook. "Everyone's staring," she guffawed.

Stiles spun around in a circle, glaring at everyone. He stalked down the hall, dragging Sherry after him grouchily. "I am so not in the mood."

"I'm not sitting with you during lunch," she reminded him.

He gawked at her. "Why not? We have to talk battle strategy."

"First of all, do you really want me helping you? I don't know the first thing about this stuff. Second of all, I have a social life."

They arrived at the cafeteria, surveying the swarming room. "You mean Liam."

"Actually, I meant to say Mason. But you can keep living your delusion if you want."

Stiles huffed. "Fine, don't help us defeat the supervillain. You're not ending up on the cover of our comic book."

She rolled her eyes. "Nerd." She walked away and settled into the seat next to Mason, pulling out a Thermos from her backpack.

Mason grinned. "Hey! Have you seen Liam?"

She nodded over to Stiles' table. "He's over there."

Liam leaned with his elbows on the other lunch table, speaking intently with the girls.

"If I didn't know him, I'd think he's flirting," Mason joked.

"They're definitely out of his league."

"Oh, he's not interested in them," Mason cackled. He shook with silent laughter, watching Liam in amusement.

"What is so funny?" Sherry whined. That just made him laugh harder. Sherry smacked his arm, ruffled.

Liam looked up from his conversation then, a confused look evident on his face as he assessed the situation with Sherry and Mason. He excused himself from the juniors and approached their table. "What's going on?"

At this point, Mason was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. He clutched his chest, struggling to catch a breath amid his spasming.

Sherry inched away from the boy. "I have no clue." The laughter was contagious, making Sherry start to suppress her own giggles.

Mason's hand swung over the table, knocking over Sherry's open Thermos. "My food!" she yelped, reaching out to grab it before it rolled off the table.

Liam grabbed the metal cylinder the same time she did, his fingers pressing on Sherry's. She pulled back immediately, feeling something like electricity running up her arm. Yet she knew that the feeling was all in her mind.

Liam set the Thermos back on the table, blinking at Sherry. "What happened?"

"I think I hit my funny bone," she lied, rubbing her arm. "Sorry."

Mason heaved in and out, fanning himself to stabilize his breathing. "Anyway. Who's up for bowling?"

"Tonight?" Sherry asked, glancing nervously at Liam.

Liam's eyes widened. He looked at the juniors' table and then back at Mason. "I guess."

"Great!" Mason cheered. "Meet at four at the bowling alley." He pushed off his chair, going to throw some trash away.

"What about the battle plans?" Sherry hissed. "Aren't you guys going tonight?"

"Yeah, at midnight," Liam replied. "We have time."

"And you don't want Mason to think that there's anything going on, huh?"

He paled. "That too."

➵➵➵

Sherry showed up at Beacon Bowl at four o'clock sharp. Liam arrived shortly after.

"Where's Mason?" Sherry asked.

Liam shrugged. "He's late."

"We should go reserve a lane, then." Sherry entered the building, making a beeline toward the front desk. She paid for one game for two people, figuring that Mason would have to sit out for the first one to make up for his tardiness.

She and Liam headed down to their lane, selecting rental shoes and bowling balls. Liam fiddled with the keyboard that connected to the electronic scoring system. "What do you want to set your name as?" he called. "Four letters."

"S-H-E-R," she answered. "Like Sherlock. Or sheriff. Or sherbet."

"Or Cher."

She dropped two heavy balls into the open ball return. "That works, too."

He pressed the enter button and the TV screen in front of them showed their empty scoresheet. He had entered "CHER" for Sherry's name. "Ladies first."

"I just put the balls down," she whined. "Alright."

Her first try landed her with a final score of seven, not bad for the first time she'd bowled in years.

"Don't laugh at me," she warned. "You don't get to. You misspelled my name."

Liam only grinned, snatching up the other ball and racing out to toss the ball. A strike.

"I blame the fact that you're a werewolf," Sherry muttered, crossing her arms. "This is an unfair game."

"Or I could be just that good."

"Eh."

"I should call Mason," Liam realized, pulling out his phone. He tapped Mason's name in his contacts and placed the phone on a table, speakers on.

"Hey, Liam!" Mason greeted. "What's up?"

"You're late."

"I'm absent, actually," Mason replied cheekily.

"When are you getting here?"

"I'm not. Duh."

Sherry leaned on the table. "What do you mean, you're not coming? You set this up!"

"Exactly! I set you two up. So have fun on your date!" Mason hung up on them. Sherry and Liam stared at each other, horrified.

"This is not a date," Sherry stated.

"Of course not!" Liam blurted quickly.

"We are going to pretend Mason never said that."

"Right."

"Then we'll kill him tomorrow."

"Totally."

"And I will beat you at this game."

Liam smirked. "Well, I'm not going to agree with everything you say."

"So close," she muttered.

➵➵➵

"Everyone understands the plan?" Stiles checked.

Everyone nodded. Lydia held up a hand. "Wait. What exactly do I do again?"

"You scream at the bad guys," Stiles responded, dumbfounded that she would even ask that. "And you destroy their delicate wolf ears."

Lydia crossed her arms disapprovingly. "Uh huh. What about when the bad guys want to destroy my delicate banshee body?!"

Stiles blinked. "That's what the screaming's for. To drive away the bad guys."

Lydia was still unimpressed.

"Okay!" Stiles clapped his hands together. "Ready to destroy some alpha's psychopathic butt?"

Everyone stared at him.

"Me too! Alright, break!" No one moved. "That means go," he prodded. "Go attack... I am never giving a pep talk again. Ever." He backed up against his Jeep. "I'm done."

Lydia, Malia, Kira, and Liam ran up the trail leading to the cabin, moving furtively under the shadows of the trees.

Stiles beckoned to Sherry, sneaking behind the four of them. Sherry tiptoed with him, following in the barely moonlit darkness. Up ahead, the cabin became clearer in detail, showing the closed front door and curtained windows. In front of the doors and around the perimeter, sentinels stood stiffly, scanning the woods for any intruders. Immediately, Sherry could see action beginning to unfold.

Kira swung the flat side of her katana against one werewolf's head, making him collapse onto the ground. Malia attacked another guard, a hard clubbing to the cranium also making him fall. One by one, the sentinels all were knocked out, leaving the entrance to the cabin unprotected.

"Why don't they kill the guards?" Sherry hissed. "They might wake up!"

"We don't kill," Stiles answered. "Reason number 4395329 of why I hate being one of the good guys."

Liam burst through the front door, all claws and teeth and hair. Kira and Malia followed him, swinging at quickly shifting werewolves.

Stiles and Sherry ducked behind a bush, watching the scene unfold through binoculars.

Lydia stood in the doorway and shrieked, the piercing scream or her voice tearing through the woods. Sherry clamped her hands over her ears. When Lydia stopped, Sherry looked again. The screams hadn't made a difference at all.

The strawberry blonde backed up from the door, shaken, and fled. She raced to Stiles, crouching behind the bush, and fell to her knees, panicked.

Inside, Liam and Malia were flying from wall to wall, easily picked up and attacked by werewolves as if they were chew toys. Kira was only faring slightly better. Sherry could see, despite the distance, streaks of blood running down the girl's back and legs. Kira sliced at a burly werewolf, but was stopped mid-swing. Then, like her two companions, she was slammed against a cabin wall.

Sherry gasped. "They're going to get killed."

"Wait," Stiles whispered.

An ear-splitting roar cut across the commotion inside the cabin, truncating it. The sea of belligerent werewolves parted down the middle, the betas all flattening against the walls. Their Moses, a flame-haired woman, strutted into view.

"The alpha's a woman?" Stiles gasped.

"Welcome to my house!" she barked. "You were foolish to think the six of you could take me on!" She moved closer to Liam. "Be grateful that I have let you live today. Next time, bring Scott McCall." Her evil snarl could be seen from miles away. "Then I will kill you all."

She made a sweeping gesture, roaring again, and Liam, Malia, and Kira scurried from the cabin, clutching at their wounds. The door slammed shut behind them.

 


	15. Bereaving

_↣I'm burning bridges shore to shore↢_

_↣I break away from something more↢_

_↣I'm not turned off to love until it's cheap↢_

_↣Been there, done that, messed around↢_

_↣I'm having fun, don't put me down↢_

_↣I'll never let you sweep me off my feet↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 15 ➵ Bereaving**

* * *

 

"We can't do this without Scott," Liam whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut while Deaton extracted a gargantuan splinter from his arm.

"There were so many of them," Malia added.

"I've called in backup," Deaton responded, dabbing at Liam's wound with antibacterial ointment. "They should be here soon."

"Who?" Stiles demanded. "And how soon?"

"Everyone," he said simply. "Chris Argent, Derek, Braeden. Even your overseas friends, though I doubt they'll come."

"You asked Jackson?! Why would you ask that son of a-"

"He's a werewolf now, Stiles," Deaton reprimanded. "Not a kanima. And I asked Isaac too, but I don't think he wants to come back to Beacon Hills either."

"I still can't believe you asked Jackson," Stiles huffed, side-glancing at Lydia.

The veterinarian shrugged. "We are dealing with an enemy we can't handle by ourselves," he reasoned.

"You said Chris Argent?" Sherry asked. "The guy who knows the Calaveras?"

Deaton gave her a strange look. "Yes. Why?"

Stiles put a hand on her shoulder. "Because the Calaveras killed her dad."

➵➵➵

Parrish convulsed on the bed, his muscles spasming and flailing. The heart monitor peaked erratically, the frequency reducing every second.

Mrs. McCall jumped up, examining his vitals. "Nothing seems to be wrong!"

As suddenly as the attack had come, it stopped. Parrish lay still in his bed, the heart monitor letting out a uniform, prolonged beep - his heart had flatlined.

"Oh no," she muttered. She pulled open the door, yelling into the hallway, "Code blue! Get a defibrillator in here stat!" She rushed to her patient's side, pushing her hands down on Parrish's chest. The CPR went on for several seconds until a team with a defibrillator showed up.

Sherry backed into a corner, staring in terror.

"Back up!" someone shouted. "One, two, three!" A shock was administered to Parrish's chest, making him shudder. "Again!"

Mrs. McCall dodged around the medical team, signaling to Sherry. "I need you to get Kira up here. Now!"

Befuddled, she nodded, and sprinted out of the room. Why Kira? She took the stairs rather than the elevator and stumbled out on the first floor completely overwrought. Thank God the pack still insisted on waiting down in the lobby. "Kira!"

The girl turned around, her glossy black hair swinging. "What's wrong?"

"You need to come to Parrish's room," Sherry panted. "Cardiac arrest!"

The other four burst into commotion, worried. Sherry and Kira raced back up the stairs, pushing past nurses to get back into Parrish's room. One nurse tried barring their entrance, ordering that they were not allowed inside the room.

Thankfully, Mrs. McCall overrode that vote. She tugged Kira inside the room. Sherry ducked in after.

"Move aside!" Mrs. McCall bellowed.

"Ma'am, what are you doing?"

She eyed the dissenting man fiercely. "Move."

Kira rushed to Parrish's side and then, as if in a trance, put her hands over his heart. She closed her eyes and Sherry swore she saw flickers of lightning zap from Kira's fingertips to Parrish's skin.

"Nothing's happening!" the same indignant man exclaimed. "What are you thinking?!"

Parrish spasmed. Still, his heartbeat didn't restart.

"I'm going to have to call it," the man said. "Time of death-"

Beep.

"That's impossible!"

But it wasn't. Parrish's heart was beating again. Stunned, Kira backed away as nurses crowded around Parrish's body, scribbling on clipboards and examining his vital statuses.

"How did you do that?" Sherry breathed, staring at Kira.

"I'm a kitsune," she said. "I'm a fox with a thing for electricity."

"I thought you were just really good at swordfighting."

She smiled. "That too."

➵➵➵

For the next few days, Sherry was suspended in a state of shock. She spent every day curled in her bed, worried that Parrish would go through cardiac arrest or some other ailment again but not survive. She had gotten used to her uncle being in a coma.

The first few days, she had been morose, unwilling to talk to anyone. Still, her new friends had pulled her out of her shell. Mason was always peppy and the shifter crisis kept her on her toes. Then her adventure in the sewers had happened and she found herself on an apparent date with Liam and it seemed to her that her whole plan of keeping to herself had gone down the drain.

Now, there was no way she was going to put down her guard. How could she? Her uncle had been dead for a few minutes. She'd almost lost someone she'd cared about again. Every time she looked at someone, like Liam or Stiles or Mason, she imagined them dying gruesome deaths. Something bad happened to everyone she started caring about. Her mother got herself arrested. Her father was murdered. Parrish was in a coma. Scott was in police custody. And though she knew plainly that it wasn't her fault, she just couldn't shake the feeling that it was.

Every day at school passed like a blur. It had been a week, but still Deaton's contacts were unable to release Scott from prison. Mr. Argent, and whoever Derek and Braeden were, still had not arrived. The threat of another murder loomed closer. Sherry ate her lunch by the tree outside the cafeteria, purposely avoiding Mason and Liam.

The funny thought occurred to her, as the dried grass tickled her ankles, that she'd gone from trying to make friends to trying to avoid them. She stared out at the empty lawn, picking at the grass around her.

Someone appeared next to her, sliding down the tree trunk to sit by her side, just as she'd done to Scott that one time.

"Want to talk about it?" Liam asked softly. His arm brushed Sherry's shoulder, sending a shiver up her spine. She didn't answer, or even look at him. "Mason's worried about you."

"Please go away."

"We're all here for you, you know. We've all been through tough times. It just helps to talk to someone."

She almost wanted to. But then she remembered that the last person she talked to was Scott. And what had happened to him? She stayed silent.

Resigned, Liam stood up. "Scott once told me something. If you don't want to be involved, that's fine. Just don't push your friends away, too."

Sherry knew he meant Mason. But besides Mason, her friends were them. Liam, Stiles, Scott. Even Kira and Lydia had started to grow on her. She didn't have a choice.

A glossy slate-colored car zoomed across the street, braking right at the school's curb. A buff-looking woman with dark skin and a black leather outfit stepped out of the passenger's side. The back door opened, too, letting out the one person Sherry didn't expect to see. Scott McCall.

"Miss us?" the woman called, grinning at Liam. Another unfamiliar person, a man with black hair and rugged stubble, emerged from the driver's side, making his way around to stand by the woman.

Sherry scrambled to her feet, wondering how Scott could've gotten out of jail.

"Sherry," Scott said, "Meet Braeden and Derek."

Sherry stared at the imposing duo, making a strangled squeak. She did not want to get on their bad sides.

"How did you get out?" Liam asked. Scott glanced at Braeden.

"Remember how I used to be a U.S. Marshall?" she said. "It's not that hard to destroy evidence and pretend to be a government official."

"Deaton said you needed help?" Derek questioned, smirking.

"We needed Scott," Liam replied. "We didn't ask for you."

"We're going to need all the help we can get," Scott mitigated, walking toward Liam and Sherry. "I met the alpha. She doesn't care about logic or protecting her pack. She doesn't even care about self-preservation. All she wants is to hurt me."

"She's a sadistic psychopath, basically," Braeden said. "It'll take more than battle strategy to defeat her."

"Liam, get everyone out here," Scott ordered.

"Now? What about school?" Liam paled, but one look from his alpha made him nod. "Okay." He ran back inside the building.

"What's wrong?" Scott questioned, staring oddly at Sherry. His voice was low, intended to be out of the earshots of the other two. "You smell really negative."

"Parrish almost died again," she whispered. "But I'm glad you're back."

He rubbed her shoulder. "He's going to be okay."

"But will everyone else?"

Scott turned around. Kira ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.

Stiles glared at Derek. "Nice to have you back."

"We need to go now," Derek said. "The longer we wait, the more the other alpha will expect us."

➵➵➵

She felt terrible about ditching school. She'd never done that before in her life. But for everyone else, it was just another day in Beacon Hills.

She wasn't sure why it had become the unspoken law that every meeting must take place at Deaton's veterinary clinic. Everyone was crowded in the back room, leaning against sharp metallic corners and unopened cabinets.

"Are we killing them?" Malia wondered hopefully.

"Not if we can help it," Deaton responded. "Other questions?" No one said anything. "You can do it, everyone."

Braeden motioned to Sherry, pulling her aside. "Do you know how to work a gun?"

"No."

She pulled out a handgun from her jacket. "This is a semi-automatic pistol. This is the chamber. This is the trigger." She pressed the gun into Sherry's hand. "Follow me. You're going to do some target practice."

Outside, Braeden walked over to a sleek black motorcycle and tossed Sherry a helmet.

"What about the car?" Sherry yelped. She did not like the idea of moving sixty miles an hour without the walls of a car to protect her.

"The car's Derek's." Braeden tapped the motorcycle fondly, swinging her leg over. "This baby is mine."

Sherry tightened the helmet around her head and climbed behind Braeden on the seat reluctantly. She clutched her arms around Braeden and then they were off.

"Where are we going?" Sherry hollered over the rush of wind.

"To the woods!"

"Why are you doing this?!"

"You wanted to help! So I'm teaching you!"

Braeden parked the bike right off the side of the road by a deserted stretch of forest. They dismounted, taking off their helmets, and walked a couple paces into the trees.

"Shoot that tree," Braeden ordered, pointing at one random trunk.

"I don't know how to-"

"Go!"

Skittishly, Sherry tried to remember what she saw in movies and TV shows. She racked the gun, pulling harder until she heard a click. Then she held the gun as far away from herself as she could, both hands grasping the smooth metal.

She heard a bang as the gun fired. A rustling of bushes far away indicated that her aim had been way, way off.

"Again," Braeden ordered.

Sherry shook herself, her pulse pounding in her ears. She tried again, still missing the tree by a wide angle. After about ten minutes, she jumped in excitement when bits of bark and splinters exploded off the side of the tree. "I nicked it!"

"Good job," Braeden drawled. "Now do it again."

➵➵➵

Sherry had two of Braeden's pistols clutched tightly in her hands as she and Braeden snuck around the side of the house. A scratchy bush prickled in their faces, obscuring their view of the closest guard.

"Stay down," Braeden hissed. Sherry nodded, crouching and trying not to make a noise. The guard scanned the bush's area, sniffing for a scent of them. He moved closer, barking, "Who's there?"

Braeden popped up, pulling a stun gun from her leather jacket and aiming it at the guard. He crumpled to the ground and Braeden caught him just before he hit it, lowering him down silently.

She motioned to Sherry and they crept up to the cabin walls, pressing themselves against the rough wood under a window.

The earpieces in Sherry's and Braeden's ears crackled. "All clear," Stiles informed them.

Braeden held up three fingers. Two. One. Abruptly, she shot up and smashed her elbow through the foggy window, firing shots through the jagged hole. The wolfsbane bullets sliced through the air, embedding themselves into unsuspecting werewolves.

"Get inside!" Braeden shouted. "I have your back."

Sherry stood up, grabbing the windowpane like the edge of a gymnastics vault, and brought her feet up onto the thin ridge. She propelled herself through the opening in the window, diving headfirst and landing on her hands, folding up and taking the brunt of the fall through her shoulders and back as she tucked and rolled out of her dive. She hadn't expected that the next time she tumbled would be on a hardwood floor instead of the padded blue mats of a cheer gym. She was up in a split second, aiming bullets at attackers and ducking punches.

A hand caught the back of her jacket, lurching her backwards. Another hand punched her head, sending an explosion of pain searing through her skull. Stars danced in her vision. Her aim was fuzzy already, but now she couldn't even shoot within 180 degrees of her targets.

Claws pressed against her ribs, shoving her back against a rigid wall. Her arm slammed into a sharp corner, slicing through her sleeve and skin. She gasped out in pain, collapsing onto her side as she watched the rest of the action unfold before her blurry eyes.

Scott slashed at her attackers, fighting off both of them at once. Thankful for the distraction, Sherry dragged herself out of the way, weakly pushing at a set of drawers until it slid enough for her to hide behind it.

From her position, she could see through a small crack between the wall and the edge of the furniture. Braeden, bleeding profusely, still kept up a good fight, shooting from an even bigger gun while kicking and punching. Derek's eyes were blue as his face contorted into a werewolf's, roaring and swinging at angry betas. Kira twirled her katana in practiced arcs. Malia lunged at werewolves and Liam punched furiously.

Sherry focused back on herself, taking her breaths slowly and as calmly as she could. She blinked continuously, trying to clear her vision. She needed to be able to shoot again.

What was it about pain? If she didn't think about it, it wouldn't hurt as much. Everything could be solved with a little focused breathing. She shut her eyes, muttering, "In. Out. In, and out."

Little by little, the stars clouding her vision dissipated, fading to specks and then disappearing altogether. Her arm still hurt, though. Sherry refused to look at the wound, despite the warm blood she could feel trickling down her skin. If she saw how bad it was, she figured, it would only hurt worse.

The cabin door exploded open again, the wooden door crashing into the wall. The hinges seemed to strain against their bolts. From her vantage, Sherry could see a scruffy blond man armed with mammoth black guns. Each of them must have weighed at least as much as her.

"About time!" Scott yelled.

The man shrugged, firing off streams of bullets at offending werewolves. "Sorry. The drive from Mexico took longer than I expected."

Hoping none of those bullets or exploding shrapnel would come her way, Sherry positioned the barrel of her handgun at the crack between the wall and the drawers, squinting through the interstice to aim. She managed to nick some legs and feet, although she couldn't see the faces of most of her victims. They were too tall for her to get a peek.

Torrents of flying metal and claws zoomed everywhere in the room, ricocheting off walls and furniture. Wolves fell everywhere, including one familiar beta with messy brown hair and bright yellow eyes.

 


	16. Upshot

_↣I took a chance, I took a shot ↢_

_↣And you might think I'm bulletproof, but I'm not↢_

_↣You took a swing, I took it hard ↢_

_↣And down here from the ground I see who you are↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 16 ➵ Upshot**

* * *

 

"Liam!" Sherry shrieked, diving out from her hiding spot to get close to him. The bullets seemed to stop, the air clearing so that all that was left was a flurry of hand-to-hand combat.

She skidded on her knees like a volleyball player next to Liam's side, examining his wound frantically. He had been caught in the crossfire. A gruesome hole was gouged into his chest, scarily close to his heart. "What do I do?" she prodded him, taking off her jacket. "Will a tourniquet work?"

His face was still contorted into his werewolf form, hairy and ugly. He groaned. "Wolfsbane..."

She knew that the bullets being used in this fight were all laced with or filled with wolfsbane. How else would they do any harm to wolves? But she didn't know what the effects were. She hastily pulled the jacket under his torso, wrapping the cloth as tightly as she could over the wound.

"I'll get you out of here," she promised, hooking her arms under his armpits and dragging him across the floor. The enemies, oblivious before when Sherry and Liam were both on the floor, now noticed that they were trying to escape.

They swung at Sherry, trying to land blows on her head, back, and belly. Furious, Sherry dug a gun out from her back pocket, firing at her attackers' legs and chests. They howled in pain, staggering backwards.

Braeden slammed two of them against a wall, fighting to defend Sherry. "Go!"

She wasted no time in stuffing her gun away again and continuing to drag Liam. The door was so far away. She was halfway there. A quarter. The door slammed shut right in front of her nose, blocking her egress.

A roar thundered through the room, shaking the foundation of the house and shattering windows. Everything fell silent.

"You've lost, Scott McCall," the flame-haired alpha cackled. She stood tall at the end of the room, not a single scratch on her sickly pale skin. Her veins seemed to pop out from behind her translucent epidermis. All around her, people were fallen. Her own pack had reduced from thirty or forty to ten, but that was a definite advantage compared to what Scott's pack had. Malia was pinned to the floor, a heavy boot pressing down on her back. Braeden was plastered against a wall, a knife to her throat. The scruffy man with the scary guns was slumped against a corner, a bloody gash marring his forehead. Derek was impaled, a shower curtain gluing him to a splintery wall. Kira was sprawled on the floor, held down by terrifyingly muscular arms. And Liam was nearly dead. "You have no idea how satisfying this is."

"What have I ever done to you?!" Scott demanded, seething. He was the only one on his team still standing. "I don't even know who you are!"

"Who I am is not important. Neither does it matter that you might have done anything to deserve this." The woman reclined into an armchair that similarly had an uncanny clean look. Like despite the battle that had raged inside this house, the armchair was the only thing that remained untarnished. "Do you realize how many forces have come up against you, only to have lost? You're just a teenage boy, yet somehow, you managed to defeat a family of hunters, a pack of alphas, bounty hunters, ancient Japanese demons, and countless psychopaths." She grinned, her teeth glinting a creepy white. "Well. Except me."

"You know that you're a psychopath?" Scott looked slightly irked. "Why don't you go check yourself into Eichen House?"

"Oh, but that's no fun, Scott! Going after you with my devoted pack and a hired shapeshifter is much more exciting!"

"You hired a shifter?"

"They're in really high demand, don't you know? Anyway, my shapeshifting friend has gone home to Sioux Falls, so you don't need to worry about him."

"Why are you doing this?" Scott bit out.

"You see, I asked myself, 'What were all those powerful forces doing wrong so they couldn't even beat a teenager?' And then I realized: They were going after the wrong person." She twirled a copper ringlet. "If they really wanted to bring you down, they shouldn't have gone after you. They should've gone after your friends."

Scott roared, his entire body shaking with rage. "You do not hurt my friends!"

The alpha smirked. "But I already have." She reached under the armchair, lifting the skirt from around the chair's legs, and pulled out an old-fashioned remote control. She aimed it at the television in the corner of the room and clicked a button. The screen swam with static, but Sherry could just make out a timer behind the noise. One minute. "Nobody is getting out of this house, Scott. Every exit is blocked. We will all die, knowing I finally beat the infamous true alpha, Scott McCall."

"You won't win if you die."

"No, but I win if you die. Say your prayers."

Scott lunged at the woman, slashing madly at her. The two of them rolled on the floor, grappling for the upper hand.

The alpha kneed Scott in the stomach standing still for a moment to land a killing blow.

Sherry had a gun in her hands. No one was looking, their eyes all fixated on the final brawl. She could end it all with one shot. She just had to hit the target.

Hit the tree. She imagined a rough, tall trunk in the place of the alpha as time slowed down to let her make her move. There was a knot in the bark right where the alpha's head was, a practical target screaming this is the bull's eye.

Her hands were stretched out in front of her. One shot or it was over. One shot and it was over. Which would it be?

Bang.

Crimson dripped like sap from the tree, but it was way off, almost a foot up the trunk. She must have been imagining it. One blink, and the tree was gone from her imagination, revealing a very much alive alpha. The bullet had lodged in the wall above her head.

"Restrain her!" the alpha bellowed, pointing at the beta nearest the door.

A moment's distraction was all Scott needed. He swung his claws up, sinking them into the neck of the alpha. Her throat ripped, floods of bright crimson blood seeping down her collarbones and mixing in with the kinks of her red hair.

Thirty seconds left on the television. With every passing second, the static cleared some, the numbers becoming clearer and sharper.

More gunshots exploded, but those weren't from Sherry. The man with the scruffy beard had pulled himself to consciousness and was gunning down the remaining members of the alpha's pack. Malia was free to move, and then Braeden was free from her captors. Kira scrambled to her feet.

Braeden ran to Derek, her face white with worry. She tugged the bar from Derek's chest, making him cry out in anguish. Scott helped the scruffy man stand up, giving him a shoulder to lean on as he limped toward the door.

"Malia!" Sherry called, her voice weak. "Open the door!"

Ten seconds. There seemed to be almost no static left on the screen.

Malia rammed her shoulder into the poor door, the entire frame finally giving way as the whole rectangle came smashing down on the porch. Scott and the man hurried out, followed by Braeden and Kira holding up a groaning Derek.

Malia grabbed Liam's ankles, and with a heave, she and Sherry lifted the boy from the floor and clumsily, in a rushed manner, shuttled him out the door.

Five.

"How far away do we need to get?" Braeden yelled.

"As far away as possible!" the scruffy man answered.

All of them ran as fast as their bruised legs could take them. Sherry kept stumbling over rocks and brambles as she sprinted sideways, trying to keep pace with Malia.

Somewhere behind them, Sherry heard something like the loudest firework ever blow up, sending a balloon of orange fire and a tsunami of wind at the eight of them.

She fell forward, but made sure she softened Liam's landing. Years as a cheerleader made it her instinct never to let anyone fall.

Her back scraped into the roots of some rough tree. The back of her shirt tore and the air was knocked out of her chest when most of Liam's weight slammed into her.

She gasped for breath, unable to even move for a moment. Then the muscles in her back and stomach finally released, allowing her to sit up shakily and take big, rasping breaths.

Liam was completely unconscious, but he still had not shifted back into human form. Sherry cradled his upper body in her arms, yelling, "Scott! Help!"

The scruffy man kneeled next to her, examining the bullet hole. He looked at Sherry, his blue eyes frank. "He's going to be fine. I have the antidote."

Sherry nodded quickly. "Who are you?"

He held out his hand. "I'm Chris Argent. You're Sherry Ming?" She nodded again. "I heard you wanted to know about the Calaveras."

➵➵➵

"I administered the antidote," Deaton said, "But it'll still be awhile until he fully recovers. Argent used an extremely potent form of wolfsbane."

"Last time, Derek was shot with specialized wolfsbane and he had forty-eight hours to live," Scott interjected. "He recovered really fast after he got the cure."

"Yes, but I suspect Argent has done quite a bit of work on his formula," he answered. "This version completely attacks the nervous system, sending shockwaves of pure pain to the victim's brain. Liam probably passed out when his nerves were overwhelmed - but the kanima poison mixed in likely rendered him immobile first."

"Is he still in pain?" Sherry asked, leaning on the metal table that Liam was fast asleep on. His face was peaceful, looking more human than wolf. The poison seemed to hold him in his wolf form, letting him return back to normal as its strength slowly lessened.

"I don't know for certain," Deaton admitted. "He doesn't seem to be showing any effects of it, though."

She nodded, her arms folded on the table, inches away from Liam's side. His eyes flicked around under his eyelids suddenly and Sherry jumped back, alarmed.

"He's just in REM sleep," Deaton explained. "Rapid Eye Movement. It means he's getting better."

She was still shaken. "I'm going home."

Scott grabbed her arm. "You don't have to leave."

She shook him off and left the animal clinic without another word.

A familiar glossy sedan idled at the curb outside. Braeden, still clad in black leather, leaned against it, her arms crossed nonchalantly over her chest.

"Get in," she said, motioning to the passenger side door or Derek's sleek car. "Argent's waiting for us in Mexico."

Sherry sidled over and slid in apprehensively. "Why didn't he just take me with him, then?"

"Because then you wouldn't have a ride back," she reasoned. "And I'm your protection. The Calaveras are still out to get you, right?"

Sherry sighed. "I guess."

Braeden turned up the music, something fast-paced and punk that filled up the whole car. "Do you mind?"

She just wanted peace and quiet. "No."

Braeden turned the volume up higher. "Good. Derek hates listening to music."

➵➵➵

After over ten hours of endless driving, Braeden finally pulled over by what seemed to be a small pub-like area in the middle of the golden desert. Frontier-style buildings rose out of the sand, the corners all soft and rounded adobe and stucco.

"Follow me," Braeden ordered. Sherry exited the car, whose glossy exterior was now matte with dust and unfortunate flying insects. She kept close to the woman's side, put off by the absolute emptiness in the square.

Braeden walked up to the front door of one building that looked completely as generic as every other one and stared up into a security camera positioned near the door. A stoic guard stood by the door, his hands folded behind his back.

He put a finger to his earpiece, nodding. He opened the door for Braeden without a word, eyeing Sherry suspiciously.

"She's with me," Braeden said, as if she read his mind. She put an arm around Sherry and ushered her inside the building. The heavy door slammed behind them.

The inside was a large, empty room. The raised DJ's platform and colored light fixtures near the ceiling gave away that it was normally used for parties or raves. Braeden led Sherry into a side hallway and through several corridors easily. She'd obviously been here many times before.

The last door opened into a conference-style room, where several people were already waiting. Sherry's stomach lurched as she stared at them, a sickening realization twisting in her gut. Three people. The man who'd killed her father, the frightening woman from Stiles' detective board, and Chris Argent.

"Welcome, niña," the woman said, a small smirk playing across her face. The gaunt man just looked disturbingly smug and sinister. "My name is Araya Calaveras. You've already met Christopher and my nephew Sicario."

She could feel her blood boil. Sicario Calaveras. The murderer.


	17. Dissemination

_↣The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine ↢_

_↣Open hand or closed fist would be fine ↢_

_↣The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine ↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 17 ➵ Dissemination**

* * *

 

 

"You want to know what happened with your mother, correct?" Araya asked, an impish grin quirking at the corner of her mouth.

Sherry just watched her, stone-faced. She clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"Let me tell you, Sherry Ming, there are a lot of things you don't know about her. I remember when I first met her. Oh, that was years ago. I told her, 'There are people in this world who are vicious, who cannot control themselves and rain pain and violence on innocent people.' She was an agent working for the FBI, managing the file systems." Araya eyed Sherry as she spoke, as if gauging for her reaction. "I said, 'The FBI is noble, yes, but there are many things going on that they cannot explain.' I didn't tell her about werewolves, but your mother was a smart woman. She knew something was going on, so she agreed." She stared at Sherry. "Aren't you going to ask me what she agreed to?"

Sherry gritted her teeth. "To what?"

"For the next ten years, she supplied us with information and files on known killers and threats. When those werewolves and other supernatural creatures wound up dead, she noticed immediately the drop in murder rates. Your mother knew that the information she was dispensing was saving lives."

"But you were killing people."

"Yes, and she knew that, too."

Sherry had to focus her breathing again. If she got too worked up, she knew she'd start crying from frustration. "My mom couldn't stand murders. She turned off the TV every time the news talked about them."

Araya smirked slyly. "No, she couldn't stand innocent people dying. Murderers? Well, that was a different story."

"If she believed that so much, why'd she turn herself in?"

"Because she was a coward!" Sicario bit out.

Araya glared daggers at him. "Quiet!" Turning back to Sherry, she answered, "Because the people we were hunting were getting an idea of who was giving them away. The longer she helped us, the more danger she was in. So eventually, she got so scared that she sought safety in a prison. The place where no one could get in or out."

"She said she felt remorse for what she did."

Sicario barked out a laugh. "That wasn't the first time she lied."

"And your poor father," Araya tsked, shaking her head disapprovingly. "After your mother told the whole truth, we were on the verge of being revealed. We're a secret organization, nina, we couldn't have that! But he just had to file a lawsuit and a search, trying to find us and make us pay for blackmailing his precious wife."

Sherry just wanted to scream at her. To attack her with all the force and adrenaline she had. But her eyes began to water, blurriness threatening to spill over. Her whole body trembled with nervous energy, like she'd swallowed two cups of espresso.

Braeden placed her hands firmly on Sherry's shoulder, a gesture meant to be comforting. Sherry shrugged them off.

"So you killed him," she said. "And you tried to kill me."

"He was a threat to us," Araya rationalized. "It was his life or risk being exposed. For all we knew, you could have been in on it, too."

"I wasn't!"

"Obviously," she sneered. "But imagine the backlash if the authorities knew only your father was killed. That would be a dead giveaway. If we killed you, too, then you would just seem like a hapless family struck by the worst of misfortunes."

"You're sick," Sherry spat. "Are you going to kill me now?"

"What good would that do? You're no harm now." She looked over at Chris Argent. "What's our motto, Christopher?"

"Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent. We hunt those who hunt us," he recited, a slightly robotic tone to his voice.

Sherry met Araya's gaze evenly. "So you're just going to let me go?"

"You wanted to know the truth. I told you."

Sherry glanced at Sicario, his stoic expression still haughty and distasteful. "Why, do you want me to kill you?" he snarled. He cracked his knuckles. "I won't mind."

"You won't touch her," Araya decreed. Sicario growled.

"Let's go," Braeden announced, nudging Sherry protectively. "And Chris? When you find Kate, make sure she stays dead this time."

➵➵➵

She received a text the next day from Scott, asking where she was. She turned the phone over, blocking out the annoying light from the screen as she tugged her covers over her head.

A few seconds later, the buzz of metal vibrating on wood began to drone, accompanied by the default iPhone ringtone. Sherry groaned and grappled around on the top of the bedside table, searching blindly for her phone. Squinting through the dark, she tapped answer and turned the call on speaker.

"What?"

"Why aren't you at school?" Scott questioned.

"You're not my dad," she huffed. "Why do you want to know?"

"You've been really upset since Liam got poisoned," he answered. "I just want to know if you're okay."

"I just don't feel like dealing with people today, okay?" Her voice was muffled by the layers of blankets and pillows.

"Avoiding life won't help, Sherry," he reprimanded. When she didn't reply, he added, "Liam wants to know why you've been avoiding him."

She froze. "Is- is he better?"

"Still weak, but... why don't you go visit him?"

Sherry curled up into a tighter ball, shrinking away from the phone. "I don't know."

"He thinks you saved his life. Why don't you want to see him?"

She hung up. Immediately, her phone began to ring again, but she pressed her finger on the power button until the screen faded to black. Groaning, she shoved her face back into her pillows.

➵➵➵

"I told him you didn't want to visit," Scott said, rapping softly on her bedroom door.

Startled, Sherry clutched her comforter to her chest like a koala on a tree. She huddled in the center of her mattress, blankets cocooning her body. "Why did you tell him that? And why are you here?" she rasped.

Scott leaned against the door frame, squinting into the dark bedroom, past the glow of the hall lights. "I wanted to check if you're doing alright. And you should elaborate yourself when you see him."

"How is he?" Her voice was tentative and hopeful.

"His injury is mostly healed. His body is functioning again."

Sherry nodded, the side of her head rubbing against the sheets. Her hair billowed, caught in knots and odd tangles.

"You love him," Scott noted, as if it were the most obvious thing. "Have you told him?"

"No. And I won't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not obligated to tell him," she mumbled. "I don't have to if I don't want to."

"Of course," he said, taking a seat on her bed. The air mattress tipped under his weight. "But when was the last time you told someone you loved them?"

"When my dad died," she admitted. She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, her legs folded under her. "That was the first time in a decade."

"You mean you never told your parents you love them?" Scott was shocked, his brown eyes boring into hers. It took all of Sherry's strength not to shrink away again.

"Not since I knew what phrase really meant," she said. She swung her legs in front of her and hugged them to her chest, scooting forward to rest next to Scott.

"You haven't told your mother?"

"I haven't told anyone," she murmured. Her voice cracked, making her sound as if she were about to cry. "I love a lot of people, maybe more than I should, but I don't tell anyone."

Scott rubbed her back comfortingly, his hand warm and big. "Why?"

She sniffed. "Because that word means so much. Love. Saying I love someone - the meaning goes so much deeper than three cursory words."

"But if you mean it, why don't you just say it?"

"Because-" she swallowed, her chin digging into her knees. "I just can't. Because I'd be giving away my soul or something."

"You know you'll be happier if you open up," he pointed out.

"I hate being vulnerable," she whispered. Her eyes were watering again, warm tears blurring her vision. She tried blinking them away, but it was too late. Scott had noticed. "I hate crying in front of people, too."

He pulled her into a hug, not even worried that she was getting the shoulder of his T-shirt wet. Her arms were limp at her side, unprepared for the sudden sign of affection. She realized, at that moment, exactly why Liam said Scott was a true alpha. She felt like she'd never trusted anyone more.

"By the way," Scott said after a while, "Why is there a mattress at the bottom of your stairs?"

➵➵➵

Five days later, Sherry waited in the hospital lobby again, scribbling out calculus homework on a neon green plastic clipboard. The waiting room was mostly empty but for two families waiting for their check-ups. She guessed the end of May wasn't the heyday for illness and injury.

Far away, the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, mixing in with the goings-on of the busy lobby. Someone stepped out, a muscular and broad-shouldered silhouette, walking unsteadily, like a zombie. At first, Sherry ignored him, barely believing what she saw.

The she zipped from her chair, making a mad dash toward him, and smashed into him with full force, leaping into the air in order to throw her arms around his neck. She was hyperventilating.

Parrish stumbled backward, taken off guard. "H-hey, Sherr-bear," he said, dazed.

"I love you," she breathed, her body overwrought with ecstatic tremors. "You're the worst guardian ever."

He hugged her carefully. "How long was I out?"

"Three weeks," she said.

"Whoa." He paused. "What did I miss?"

"Everything." She let go of her uncle, wringing her hands in front of her. "I think everyone will want to see you."

He grinned. "I think I should check out with my nurse first, so she doesn't freak when I'm not in my bed." He ruffled her hair affectionately. "Love you too, squirt."

 


	18. Gauge

_↣Say you'll remember me↢_

_↣Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe↢_

_↣Red lips and rosy cheeks↢_

_↣Say you'll see me again even if it's just in your wildest dreams↢_

 

* * *

**Part II** **➵** **Season 5**

**Chapter 18** **➵** **Gauge**

* * *

****  
  


"Ready?"

Sherry fidgeted in the car seat, tugging absentmindedly on the strap of her dress. "Nope. Not ready." She leaned away from the car door, her stomach full of butterflies. "This is dumb. Let's go home."

Parrish punched her lightly on the arm. "It's the first day of school. Everyone is anxious."

She shook her head quickly, her straight brown hair flying into her face. "No. This is different. I haven't really talked to anyone since June." She sank into her seat. "I'm sure they all hate me now. And they're all seniors. Why would they want to talk to a sophomore like me?"

"You're overreacting," Parrish coaxed. "You're part of their group now. And Liam isn't a senior."

Smirking, Sherry muttered, "The last time I saw him was the night before I left - it was a full moon and he was running through the streets naked in wolf mode."

Parrish grimaced. "Yeah, that was a fun one to explain to people." He glanced at Sherry, sighed, and got out of the car on his side. Walking around to open her door for her, he tried to set a firm, authoritative tone. "Please remove yourself from the vehicle."

Huffing, she dragged herself out reluctantly. "Fine, Deputy." The sound of students and people hit her ears like a tidal wave and she pouted, eyes darting nervously around the campus for any sign of her friends.

Parrish pulled her into a hug, which involved him stooping down noticeably to get to Sherry's height. "Have a good day." He let go, sauntering back to the driver's side door. "Love you."

Her throat tightened. "Uh, you too."

The car spluttered to life and Parrish drove off, leaving Sherry standing alone on the sidewalk.

A hand clapped her on the shoulder. She spun around, jumpy. "Mason?"

The boy grinned, his dark skin almost glowing and his eyes full of sparks. "Haven't seen you in forever. Almost didn't recognize you, what with-" he waved his hands in the general direction of her hair.

"The pink?" She giggled, running her fingers through her dip-dyed locks. "Hong Kong was great." She squeezed Mason in a hug and flicked his ears. "Missed you tons. And love the earrings."

He laughed, swinging his arm around her shoulders as they made their way to the front doors of the high school. "What's your first class?"

"AP Bio, then multi-variable math," she answered. His eyes widened in shock. "Yours?"

"History with Mr. Yukimura," he said. "How are you already taking multivar? You must be as smart as Lydia."

"I'm not smart," she defended. "My old school went way faster and I work hard."

Mason shook his head. "Nah, you're smart."

➵➵➵

"Oh my god, honey, what did you do to your hair?" A strawberry blonde leaned her chin into her interlaced fingers, judging Sherry with one eyebrow lifted.

"It's called 'My aunt and uncle in Hong Kong are very liberal and think it's wonderful to express yourself in any way you choose...' but I think they were more going for a caramel color, not bright pink." Sherry beamed at the sight of Lydia, who looked as perfect as she always did.

"Well, I don't like it."

Kira and Scott passed behind Sherry, taking the two open first row seats. Lydia and Sydney, the girl who fell during the PSAT, had the other two.

"You took my seat, Scott," Sherry said, tapping him on his shoulder.

He stared at her and quickly scrambled out of the chair. "Sherry! I'm sorry!"

She shook her head. "I'm kidding. Miss me?" She held out her arms and Scott grinned, hugging her.

"Totally." He sat back down and pulled out his textbook, setting it on the table. Immediately, Kira and Lydia seemed to notice his presence, exchanging strange looks with each other, seemingly confused as to why Scott was there.

"Scott," Kira finally started, "Are you in the right class?"

Scott nodded. "AP Biology."

"Do you know what AP stands for?" Lydia pressed, a concerned expression on her pretty face.

"Advanced Placement," Scott smiled, opening his textbook to reveal two highlighters and a new notebook. The textbook pages were streaked with yellow, highlighter covering nearly every letter of the text.

Kira and Lydia looked surprised to see the amount of preparation Scott had put into it, not unjustified considering his participation in chemistry last year. Still, Sherry reasoned, he had shown that he could handle almost anything.

The teacher, Mrs. Finch, a woman with lightly styled auburn hair, began moving toward the head of the classroom, so Sherry quickly scrambled to find the last open seat. She pulled her own textbook out of her bag and spread out her things in front of her just as the teacher began to talk.

"Welcome to AP Biology!" she announced, looking stern and not at all welcoming. "Let's see who's awake." She pressed her lips together and leaned back on the edge of her desk, surveying the classroom. "Can someone tell me what plasmids are?"

Lydia answered immediately. "Circular, self-replicating DNA molecules often used in cloning proteins."

"Nicely stated, Lydia. Now, can you tell me what vitamin is absorbed in the stomach via parietal cell production of a glycoprotein?"

Sherry racked her brain for the answer. The first question was easy, but she was stumped on this one.

"Uh," Lydia said. It seemed that no one else knew the answer, either.

"B-12," Mrs. Finch stated. "Mr. McCall, did you know the answer?"

"Um," he said. "No."

"It's a common test question. What's your number one college pick?"

"Um..."

"Stop saying um," Mrs. Finch reprimanded.

"Sorry," Scott answered, shaking his head quickly as if to clear his thoughts. "UC Davis."

"Good choice. It's the best school on the West Coast for biological and physical sciences. You're in the right class if that's what you're hoping for." She turned her attention to the rest of the classroom. "Who else thinks they're in the right class?"

The boy sitting next to Sherry, who had pretty brown hair and a sweet smile, was the first to raise his hand. Everyone stared, but when he just smiled back confidently, everyone simultaneously followed suit. Sherry raised her hand too, glancing between Scott and the boy. They seemed to know each other.

"Good," Mrs. Finch said. "Then you should all be prepared for the test tomorrow."

There was a unanimous groan, but Sherry's exhalation was more like a sigh. She'd expected as much from an AP course.

"Don't be so disappointed. This test is specifically to help you determine whether you should actually be in AP Biology. You have two weeks to drop." She stood up, making eye contact with each student. "Tomorrow's test will just weed out the ones who shouldn't be here. And that could be any of you."

Sherry couldn't help but notice Mrs. Finch's lingering glance at Scott. Why did everyone underestimate him?

The teacher began to hand out the class syllabus, placing the blue papers in front of students as though they were top-secret files.

"Hi," said the boy next to Sherry. "I'm Theo."

She smiled at him, her cheeks feeling warm. "I'm Sherry."

"I don't mean to be rude, but," he said, lowering his voice, "Are you still sure you're in the right class?"

Sherry plastered on a grin, certain this wouldn't be the only time today someone would ask her that question. "Yes. I'm ahead for my age. Are you sure your people skills are up to par? Because that was definitely rude."

His face fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Sherry laughed. "Joking." She held out her hand. "Lovely to meet you, Theo."

➵➵➵

She walked into 10th Grade Honors English for her third class of the day and immediately wished she hadn't. Liam and Mason were in the middle of the room, talking animatedly about something Sherry couldn't hear. Liam looked up the moment she stepped into the room, frozen as he stared at her. Mason waved, beckoning her over to the empty seat left in front of them. Sherry took a desk at the front of the room.

Not a moment later, she could feel Mason behind her, that sharp smell of his cologne giving him away. "Hey, come sit with us!" he exclaimed.

Sherry glanced at Liam, who still was watching blatantly. "I don't know."

Mason frowned. "Did- did something happen between you and Liam that I'm not aware of?"

"I just haven't talked to him since like the end of May."

"When school let out? Come on, he's not going to bite or anything!" He pulled her arm. "Come on."

With one last longing look at her front-row seat, Sherry sighed and picked up her stuff. "Fine, but if I fail English because I'm not sitting at the front, I blame you."

Mason slid into his seat next to Liam and Sherry, making an uncomfortable face, made herself at home in her new desk. "Hi, Liam."

He nodded. "Your hair is pink."

Mason snickered. "Obviously."

"You keep your clothes on yesterday?"

Liam reddened. "I thought you were in Hong Kong during July."

"Wait, what?" Mason balked. "What is this?"

"Nothing!" Liam interjected. He glared at Sherry. "Wow, thanks."

"Hello, class! Can you please lower the volume? Please? Thank you!" The teacher was blond, skinny, and wore suspenders that lifted his khaki pants up far too high. A pair of expensive sunglasses balanced precariously over his thinning, gelled hair. "My last name is long and Russian, so you can call me Mr. S. How many of you did the extra credit summer work?"

Sherry's hand shot up into the air, but it was the only one out of thirty students. "There was extra credit?" Mason whispered, crestfallen.

Mr. S rubbed his hands together, a disappointed look on his pale face. "Well, then, um, what's your name?"

"Sherry Ming."

"Like the wine or the 1920 novel by Colette?"

"The wine," she said. "The song, actually, is what I'm named after."

"Right, then, Sherry, can you give the class a brief synopsis of The Monsters are Due on Maple Street?"

"A neighborhood of people think monsters are out to get them, so they start blaming one another until nobody trusts anyone. The situation only escalated because of the mistrust and it turns out that there wasn't really a monster. The whole thing plays on the flaws of everyday people."

"Very good. Can I get the first person in each column to pass out copies of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings? This unit, we will be learning about human flaw and its various impacts."

"Good job," Liam said, trying to look supportive of Sherry.

She gave him a weird look. "Thanks? I just did my homework."

➵➵➵

  
At the start of free period, she found Liam banging his head against his locker with only a maroon jacket as padding between his skull and the metal. He wore school P.E. shorts, which seemed to Sherry to be a very strange choice for a first day of school wardrobe.

"Where are your pants?" Sherry questioned, concerned.

"I don't want to talk about it."

She nodded slowly, concerned. "Okay... Where's Mason?"

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

She froze. "Make it quick."

"You've been avoiding me since I got poisoned."

"That's not a question," she bit out tersely.

"Well, why? You nearly saved my life."

"I didn't help save your life at all," she retorted. "I didn't take a bullet for you. I couldn't save you from the wolfsbane. I didn't really even do a good job of getting you out of the cabin to get you help."

"Yeah, but," Liam fidgeted, twisting his fingers. "You tried. And you helped drag me out before the house exploded. So if you cared then... why are you trying to ignore me?"

"Not everything has a simple answer," she said. "Why don't you use your werewolf senses to figure it out? Smelling all those chemical signals and whatnot?"

Sherry remembered the talk she'd had with Scott back in May, when he'd come to her house after school to check if she was okay.  _You love him._ Could werewolves smell that? Or was Scott just extra perceptive? She hoped it was the latter, but she couldn't help wishing that the former were true. That Liam would finally figure it out and confess his love or something else highly unlikely along those lines.

"I'm not really good at that yet."

She sighed. "Where's Mason?"

Liam shoved his jacket into his locker, on top of a crumpled pair of blue jeans. "Out on the soccer field, staring at the shirtless players."

Sherry nodded. "Thanks. I'll catch you later."

"Yeah," he responded doubtfully.


	19. Confound

_↣Yeah, you can start over↢_   
_↣You can run free↢_   
_↣You can find other fish in the sea↢_   
_↣You can pretend it's meant to be↢_   
_↣But you can't stay away from me↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 19** **➵** **Confound**

* * *

 

 

"You texted me to show up here?" Sherry pressed, looking around in concern. The school parking lot was deserted but for several stray school buses. At eleven p.m., she could hardly see anything; what she could was only dimly illuminated by yellowish lights.

"Yeah," Liam nodded. "I'm going to tell Mason."

"You're going to tell Mason you're a werewolf at midnight at the school," she reiterated dubiously. "Does that not strike you as a terrible idea?"

The weight room door opened, revealing an annoyed-looking Mason. Liam ran toward him apologetically. "Hey! Hey, sorry I'm late."

"Oh no, you're not late," Mason replied in a monotone, "You missed it. I worked out. For two hours."

"Yeah, I know, I forgot. I'm gonna tell you why." He paused, hanging his head. "Actually, I'm going to tell you a lot of things. A lot of hard to believe things. Really hard to believe..." Taking this as her cue, Sherry stepped forward, ready to back up whatever terrible plan Liam had.

Mason's eyes widened. "There's a wolf." Sherry, confused, followed his gaze and gulped.

"Yeah, I'm getting to that," Liam continued.

"No, idiot," Sherry nudged.

"There's a wolf," Mason repeated, "Right behind you."

Finally, Liam got the hint and looked. "That's a wolf," he squeaked, swallowing. The black canine growled, stepping closer to the trio as it stared at them with menacing eyes.

They burst into motion, pushing aside the double doors by the weight room, and tore down the linoleum hallway. The rubber soles of Sherry's sneakers slid on the recently cleaned tiles, leaving her scrabbling for a grip as she tried not to trip. As she sprinted away from the ever-closer wolf, she was reminded of a recurring nightmare she'd had when she was younger that played on her then-unreasonable fear of being eaten alive.

When she was little, she didn't know that the constant, soft pounding she heard in her head before she fell asleep was only her pulse. She'd imagined the rhythm to be lines of wolves padding down her street, herds of wolves stampeding to catch a sniff of her scent. She'd always woken up right before they caught her.

Except this wasn't a dream. The wolf's paws thumped on the floor, as metronomic as her heartbeat. There was a soft click and scratching, too, when the wolf's claws made contact with the linoleum. Sherry tried to turn a corner, to dash up a set of stairs after Mason, but her shoes were not meant for running on slippery surfaces. She slipped, her feet sliding out from underneath her as she skidded across the floor.

The wolf was only a few yards away. Then Liam stopped in his tracks, facing the black wolf with a feral roar. The canine halted, blinking innocently, and then turned tail and trotted away.

Mason descended the stairs, watching Liam's face melt from werewolf to human with rapt attention. "You're a werewolf," he observed, grinning. He didn't seem to find anything disturbing about that at all.

Sherry pushed herself to her feet, her tailbone aching and an annoying pain on her elbow skin. "And I now have mild abrasions on my elbows," she added. "Thanks for stating the obvious."

"Does it hurt?" Liam asked, rushing to her side.

"No." She pulled away from him. "But thanks for saving me. Are we even?"

➵➵➵

"I'll be blunt. It's not what I was hoping for, but the DA's offer is still pretty reasonable."

"What's reasonable?" an annoyed voice interjected.

"Talk in the van, guys," another man chastised. Sherry looked up from her homework.

"Let's go," the first man agreed. He looked like a lawyer, shrewd and professional, with a binder and legal pad tucked under his arm.

"No! Just tell me! What's reasonable?" The guy looked young, like he was in high school or had recently graduated. Two deputies, Parrish and Valerie Clarke, escorted him by his elbows, his wrists cuffed together behind his back. He looked miffed and as though he were suppressing an explosion, his eyes wide with warning and mouth taut.

"Mr. Stewart, are we going to have trouble with your client?" Parrish said, lifting his eyebrows.

So he was a lawyer. "No, Deputy," Mr. Stewart replied hastily. Turning to his client, he answered, "They want you for three to five. So, why don't we get in the van and discuss a plea bargain that gets you out in two?"

At that moment, the delinquent's attention caught somewhere off to the side. "Stilinski!" he shrieked, "Stilinski! I'm going to kill you!"

The sheriff, dressed oddly nicely in a sandy blazer and tucked-in flannel, just stared stonily with his arms crossed. "Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember it was well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory." Behind him, Scott watched with an almost confused expression and Stiles glared, hovering protectively over his father. "Deputies, escort the prisoner out."

Donovan trembled with fury. "I'm not angry like I'm gonna throw a brick through your window," he said. "I'm angry, like I'm going to find you, I'm going to get a knife and I'm going to stab you with it until you're dead. And when you look at me and you ask me why, remember right now. Because this is why."

Stiles chuckled maliciously. "Wow, that was awesome. That was awesome. That was great. Can we do one more," he mocked. "Give us another one, maybe like Christopher Walken this time, you know," he challenged Donovan, who pressed his lips together with a murderous expression, not responding.

"Okay, you know what? It's fine," he continued. "You'll have plenty of time to work on it when you're in your tiny, little, cell, you know?" Stiles made box shapes with his hands to demonstrate. "Just stuck there. Forever."

"Get him out of here!" Sheriff Stilinski ordered.

As soon as Donovan was out of sight, Sherry scurried over, asking, "What's an Anger Expression Inventory?"

"It's a test you take when you're applying to become a deputy," the sheriff answered, sighing.

"That guy wanted to be a cop?" Stiles balked. "At least now he's getting the full law enforcement experience."

She shivered. "I wouldn't want him patrolling my city. He scares me."

➵➵➵

It was barely an hour later that the station lit up again. A 911 call from Kira alerted them that she'd found Donovan's transport van, utterly ripped apart and blood everywhere. As the officers and deputies in the station scrambled to make it to the scene, Sherry saw that she had no way to get there herself - and for once she wanted to know what was really going on. She hastily stuffed all of her homework papers into her bag, zipping it up as she raced out the door. Luckily, a dull blue glint to the side caught her eye. Stiles' Jeep. The engine revved up and the yellow headlights flickered on, warning that Stiles and Scott were about to leave without her.

She hopped up and down behind the concrete parking block, waving her arms at Stiles. Halfway through backing out of the spot, Stiles slammed on the brakes. Sherry scampered over to the door and squeezed into the backseat, breathing, "Thanks!"

"Could you warn me next time?" Stiles bit out. "I nearly had a heart attack."

Her lips quirked up at one side. "Why, you thought I was Donovan?"

Stiles shook his head in frustration and backed out of the parking lot, speeding toward wherever the unfortunate van was. Sherry was almost certain that if the entire police force hadn't been crowding in on point in the city, they would have been pulled over at least twice for exceeding the speed limit.

After a minute or so, they neared a flashing, frenzied mess of cruisers and caution tape. Lights flashed blue and red, illuminating the wreck up ahead with eerie, unnatural colors. Past the police blockade, the van was tipped over on its side, two bodies prostrate on the ground beside it in pools of their own blood. The back doors were wide open, revealing another man lying inside. The flashing lights illuminated something clear Sherry could hardly see; it seemed to be a web of sticky goo dripping from the roof onto the unmoving man.

Stiles and Scott were out of the Jeep in an instant. They pointed at the wreck speaking urgently with the sheriff. To the side, Lydia, Malia, and Kira spoke with officers, presumably giving their witness statements.

Sherry caught up to the boys, where the sheriff was saying, "Scott, you saw this kid, Donovan. He wasn't like you, right?"

Scott shook his head uncertainly. "I don't think so." He hesitated. "Unless he knows how to hide his scent."

"Well, human or otherwise," Sheriff Stilinski said, "This kid might have just murdered his lawyer and mortally wounded two officers. We've got an APB out on him, but you think you can find him faster?"

He nodded quickly, already sniffing at the air. "I can try."

The sheriff, though strained, looked slightly satisfied. "Alright." He pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and tossed it at Scott as he started to trot away. "Keep it on channel two."

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. "Dad, what if itxx wasn't Donovan?"

"I'm guessing you've already got a theory?"

"Yeah, I think I do." His mouth twisted in anticipation.

It was barely a moment later that muffled screaming filtered through the walkie-talkie.

The sheriff jerked the black plastic device up and questioned, "Scott, is that you?"

He replied immediately. "Yeah, I found Donovan. He's completely freaked out. He keeps saying some name."

"What name?" Stiles blurted. He muttered something under his breath, a prediction that sounded like "Theo."

"Tracy," Scott said. "He keeps saying Tracy."

"Tracy who?" Sheriff Stilinski pressed.

"Stewart," Scott repeated. "Tracy Stewart."

"Who's Tracy?" Sherry wondered.

"Tracy wasn't just having trouble sleeping," he continued, "It was a real disorder. It was night terrors."

"Well, now she's the night terror," Stiles said. "Especially since no one can find her."

Tracy and Theo? How had she missed all this important information? She wondered how much really had happened over break. Maybe, she considered, she just hadn't been included in any of the important conversations since she'd returned from Hong Kong. She didn't know which was more disappointing.

Scott returned five minutes later, after he'd directed the police to where he'd found Donovan lying on the ground. Sherry yawned, ready to go home.

"Hey," Parrish said, stopping in front of her. "I need to go back to the station to fill out some paperwork. Do you need to go back to get your stuff?"

"No, it's in Stiles' car," she answered, happy to see him. "Can I come with you?"

"I don't want you to stay up too late," he insisted. "Ask Stiles to drive you."

"But-"

"Stiles!" Parrish called, flagging the boy down. "Can you take Sherry home?"

He looked as if he were about to complain. "Do I have a choice?" Parrish glared at him. Stiles sighed. "I thought so."

Scott passed behind him. "Are we going?"

"Yeah. Let's go, Sherry."

"But-"

"Sherry, I need you to go home now and get a good amount of sleep. Okay?" Parrish repeated.

She huffed. "Fine, Dad." And then she realized what she'd just said. "I mean Jordan," she backtracked, her face flushing in embarrassment. "I meant Uncle Jordan." She fled toward the Jeep in a hurry and yanked on the door handle impatiently, desperate to get away.

Several excruciatingly slow seconds later, Stiles unlocked the car and let her barrel inside. "Hey, don't worry about it," he consoled.

Scott fastened his seatbelt. "Yeah. In middle school I accidentally called my English teacher 'Mom' once."

"I just- he reminded me so much of my dad when he said that... I didn't mean to," she rushed. "Sorry. Sorry."

 


	20. Renaissance

_↣You're dripping like a saturated sunrise↢_

_↣You're spilling like an overflowing sink↢_

_↣You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece↢_

_↣And now you're tearing through the pages and the ink↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 20** **➵** **Renaissance**

* * *

 

"Okay, I know we're all tired and miserable," Scott started. He paused, eyeing Mason suspiciously. "Except for you."

The pack was gathered in the parking lot around Stiles' baby blue Jeep, their elbows leaning on the dusty and bug-spattered hood. The August air was thick and muggy, even at eight a.m.

"Oh," Mason said, a wide grin plastered on his face. He had been smiling since Sherry first saw him this morning, a quite unnerving feat for a gloomy Wednesday morning. "I'm sorry. This is all just mind-blowing."

Everyone stared at him with blank expressions. Mason continued, excited. "You're a kitsune," he said, pointing at Kira. He laughed. "I don't even know what that is!"

She smiled weakly. "I'm still learning."

Stiles bounced on his toes in annoyance. "Liam, we said you could tell him. Not invite him to the inner circle!"

"Uh, I'm in the inner circle?" Mason gasped.

"No!" Liam and Stiles retorted in unison.

"Guys, look, back to Tracy," Scott said. "She's just one lone wolf. We can find her."

"One lone serial-killing wolf," Lydia muttered.

"Uh, she only killed one person, you know," Stiles reminded her. "The other two were mauled."

"Alright," Scott continued, "What do we do when we catch her?"

"I say we put her down," Malia decided.

Mason nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "Intense."

Scott ignored him. "Guys, let's concentrate on catching her first. We'll figure out the rest later."

The bell rang, signaling the end of their morning pep talk. The group dispersed, each person going in the direction of his or her first class. "Was there English homework?" Liam asked Sherry, sounding slightly timid.

"Read the first twenty-five pages of the textbook," she responded tersely. "There's a quiz. If you haven't studied by now, don't even bother. You'll fail anyway."

Liam backed away. "Okay, okay! Sorry." He nudged Mason. "Let's go."

Sherry exhaled and left in the direction of the main building. When she was halfway there, she felt a tap on her right shoulder.

"What happened between you and Liam?" Stiles asked, that analytical and detective-like sound in his voice. "Just before summer, you looked devastated when he almost died." Scott appeared on Sherry's other side, watching her in concern.

She glanced at them, calculating. Between the two of them, they must have already figured it out, so she wasn't sure why they were still asking. Scott understood chemical signals and likely already knew what she was feeling. Stiles, with his affinity for puzzle-solving, probably had pieced together the correlations between events and her actions. She sighed. "Emotional attachment is futile. Everyone I've loved has been hurt, one way or another, and I just... I just don't want to do it anymore. Feelings hurt, okay, and one thing I've always been afraid of is pain."

"Remember I told you about Allison?" Scott started. Sherry nodded. "The year I knew her and... loved her was the best year of my life. And when she died, it hurt. Like, like hell. And it still does. But I still wouldn't trade that year for anything. The thing is, no matter how bad the pain is, the love is always worth it. Don't block yourself off just because you it'll hurt. Let yourself love and be happy even though it'll hurt. One day, you'll be hurting anyway. In the meantime, let yourself be happy, okay?"

She was silent for a moment. "You know how I feel about Liam, Scott," she whispered. "It's not that easy."

Stiles' eyes flickered between Sherry and Scott, a look of understanding forming on his face, revealing that he hadn't actually known until just now. He opened his mouth to speak, but a call cut across the parking lot, interrupting him.

"Scott! Sherry!" Lydia yelled, walking side-by-side with Kira. "Do you want to get to class on time or not?"

"Sorry," Scott excused himself guiltily. "AP Bio is on the other side of campus." He nodded at Sherry. "Are you coming?"

She glanced at Stiles. "I'll catch up. Mrs. Finch likes me."

Stiles sighed, and when Scott left, he continued, "Why isn't it easy? If you want him, you at least have to try." He stared at Sherry levelly. "I had a crush on Lydia since the third grade and I was always chasing her. She may never have liked me back, but at least now we're close friends, okay? You need to have more confidence."

She shook her head. "It's not confidence. It's experience. I'm not like Lydia. I was always that girl, who's chill or cool or friendly or sweet, who's too pretty to be single and too nice to be interesting. I was the matchmaker, the wingman, the little sister type - but I'm not crush material. At least not for the ones I like."

"You know what?" Stiles said. "You're like someone got Scott McCall from two years ago and put him in girl form. You're like distilled Scott on his stuffed puppy days. And you know what?"

She groaned, "What?"

"Scott McCall always gets the girl."

"Are you telling me I attract all the lesbians?"

He pressed his mouth in a line, irritated. "I'm saying that the boy you like definitely has a crush on you, okay? Go get him."

**➵➵➵**

Her DNA and RNA structure chapter test fluttered onto the black lab bench in front of her, the circled score screaming out at her. She glared at the red numbers, disappointed. She'd spent three hours, at least, studying for the test and still she was one measly percentage point away from an A.

The boy next to her with the pretty hair nudged her. "What did you get?"

She growled. "Eighty-nine percent." She looked over at his paper. Ninety-two. "Nice."

He pointed at the last problem on the first page of her test, a short answer question. "There, see?" He compared his response to hers. "You just forgot to include a description of the nucleotides."

"Oh," she realized. "Ugh. Stupid mistake!"

The boy grinned. "Hey, if you'd avoided that mistake, you would have about a ninety-four. It sucks that that had to be worth so many points."

"No, I should have been more careful," she sighed. His praise made her smile, though, so she added, "But thanks."

"Nice to see where your priorities are, Scott," Mrs. Finch remarked, officially starting the class as she slid his test in front of him. Sherry sat up attentively, resolved to pay attention to every detail of the class so that she could ace the next quiz. "Since you have such a good grasp of the subject, how about you lead us in a review of last night's reading?"

"Uh, sure." Scott sounded unprepared, and started distractedly turning the pages of the textbook. Sherry didn't understand the point in continually singling Scott out. Next to him, Kira watched him nervously.

"Scott?" Mrs. Finch said, after the boy turned pages for several moments and still hadn't found the right chapter.

"Sorry, just looking for the page," he apologized. Sherry couldn't see his eyes from her vantage point in the back of the classroom, but she noticed his head turning toward the door between flips of the pages and Kira glancing out at the hall. Following their gaze, she saw a familiar tousled brown head lurking in the doorway.

"Scott?" Mrs. Finch repeated.

Liam made urgent motions from the door, beckoning Scott over. "Yeah, one sec. Sorry," Scott said to the teacher.

Sherry felt bad. No wonder he couldn't concentrate.

"Scott!" Mrs. Finch said impatiently.

Scott tapped his ear and Liam's eyes widened in understanding. He backed out of view.

Inside, Scott had finally found the right page and seemingly accidentally knocked his pen to the floor, buying him some time as he listened for Liam.

Finally, Scott started to summarize the lesson. "It was basically about cell organelles and-" The fire drill went off, causing the students to all start packing up excitedly, shoving pencils and notebooks into their bags.

Mrs. Finch pursed her lips at her disrupted class, resigned. As students snatched their things and hurried toward the door, she ordered, "No rushing. It's likely just an unscheduled drill."

Scott muttered something to Kira and jostled his way out of the classroom. Lydia and Sherry caught up with Kira, confused.

"What happened?" Lydia demanded, elbowing some classmates out of the doorway. Everyone else parted to let her through, clearly recognizing Lydia's noble rank in the high school hierarchy.

"Tracy is here," Kira muttered. "In my dad's class."

Sherry's eyes widened. "Oh." She turned and ran down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the rest of the school. She couldn't hear Kira or Lydia following after by the time she entered the classroom of Mr. Yukimura, Kira's dad, which was vacant but for him, Scott, Liam, and two girls Sherry didn't recognize in the back of the room. On of the girls sat in a desk, an odd look on her face, while the other one tried in vain to persuade her to get up and follow the fire drill. Scott edged closer to the girl still sitting in her desk, a murderous look on her face and claws vandalizing the tabletop with long gouges. With the way Scott looked wary of a possible sudden attack, Sherry pieced together that the girl must be Tracy.

"Hey, we need to go," the other girl urged, peering at Tracy. She tilted her head, unsure what to do to help. "Are you all right?"

Tracy stared at something off in the distance, almost with a dreamy expression. Then she grabbed the girl's wrist, clenching painfully tightly, her dark-streaked claws piercing the girl's skin. The girl gasped out in agony.

"Tracy," Scott warned, inching toward her. "Tracy."

Tracy seemed to be in a trance, staring blankly ahead of her with a fearful expression on her face.

"Tracy, let go. Tracy!"

Her grip tightened, twisting the girl's wrist. Blood trickled down between her fingers. The girl whimpered. "You're hurting me!"

"Tracy, let go."

Slowly, she stood up, her gaze focused directly at Scott. Ominously, she finally spoke. "They're coming. They're coming for all of us." Tracy then collapsed, falling like a plank of wood. She laid unconscious on the floor as Scott and Sherry rushed toward her. Scott scooped her into his arms, obviating the need for Sherry's assistance. An ominous silver liquid pooled around Tracy's lips and Sherry choked in shock.

Mr. Yukimura opened the door for Scott as the boy lifted Tracy out. He pulled his keys from his pocket and ran out toward the front doors.

Sherry, Liam, and the other girl hurried into the hallway to watch. As Scott and Mr. Yukimura reached the double doors, Stiles and Malia ran in from a side hallway. At first, they were about to turn the corner, but the moment they saw what was happening, they backtracked frantically and opened the doors for Tracy to pass through. They ran out after them and the light blue doors slammed shut.

"She wasn't even supposed to be in our class," the girl said, staring suspiciously. "Where are they taking her?"

"Uh," Liam said, scratching the back of his head, as if debating what to tell her. He looked agitated, almost guilty that the other girl had gotten hurt. One warning look from Sherry made him gulp. "The hospital, I guess." Around them, the sounds of students returning to the halls and visiting lockers made Sherry suddenly aware of their visibility.

Liam returned his attention to the girl, his eyes drifting down to her bloodied wrist. "Do you need help getting to the Nurse's Office, Hayden?"

"I think I'll make it," she stated coldly, and began to stalk away.

 


	21. Illusioned

_↣I'm a wanderess↢_

_↣I'm a one night stand↢_

_↣Don't belong to no city↢_

_↣Don't belong to no man↢_

_↣I'm the violence in the pouring rain↢_

_↣I'm a hurricane↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 21 ➵ Illusioned**

* * *

 

 

Sherry didn't believe that she was fine. The blood trickled down her fingers and Hayden winced as she held her arm.

"I'm gonna get you some paper towels," Sherry declared loudly. She dashed down the hall, to the nearest girls' restroom, and quite nearly kicked open the door. She cranked the towel dispenser several times, ripped off a sheet, and ran back outside to aid Hayden, who was halfway to the bathroom herself.

Sherry handed the length of paper towels to Hayden and frowned when the girl pressed them to her skin, but still kept walking. "Uh, the nurse's office is the other way," she pointed out.

Hayden shook her head, her dark brown curls bouncing. "It doesn't hurt anymore. I'll wash it off." She entered the restroom and Sherry trailed after her uncertainly.

Hayden dropped the blood-soaked paper towels into the trash. Her wrist, now mostly, dry, was still marred by a burgundy stain. She passed her forearm under running water, the high pressure cleansing her skin immediately.

Sherry hovered beside her. "How bad is it?" She would have hovered over Hayden's shoulder if she could, but unfortunately the girl was almost a head taller than she was.

"It's healed," Hayden breathed, an uncanny tone in her voice. "That's not possible."

Sherry gently lifted up Hayden's wrist herself and found that it was true. Where deep gouges should have been, clear, unharmed pale skin remained. Werewolf? But Sherry didn't bring up that subject. "Maybe she had needles on her fingernails. You just can't see the injury."

Hayden disagreed. "There aren't even puncture holes."

Sherry could hear her heart pounding in her ears. "I don't know, then. Has this happened before?"

"No," she said, then shook herself. "Whatever. I just healed really quickly."

How could Hayden have been bitten or scratched by an alpha and not realized it? Maybe it was just a fluke. Sherry nodded, making a note to tell Scott later. "At least you're fine now, right?" she asked. "And by the way," she beamed, "I'm Sherry."

"Hayden," the girl grinned.

Somewhere in Sherry's stomach, she felt happy butterflies. She loved making friends.

  ➵➵➵  

She rushed into English later hyped on coffee and dropped the now-empty cup in the trash bin as she breezed through the door. She could hardly sit still in her seat and almost visibly shook with caffeine when Liam and Mason appeared. When Liam sat down she pushed a packaged cookie onto his desk.

Liam stared at it suspiciously for a moment and sniffed at it. "Is this poisoned?"

"I accidentally got it from the vending machine when I was buying Izze." She lifted the skinny purple can from her desk and wiggled it. "Do you want the cookie?"

He inspected the wrapper. "It doesn't look opened."

Mason's brown eyes flickered between Sherry and Liam, finally resting on the girl warily. "It's possible to reseal opened packages. I saw it on the internet."

Liam paled and tossed the cookie back to Sherry. "You eat it."

She shook her head and gave it back. "I'm allergic to eggs."

"You're kidding!" Mason gasped.

She felt tired. Sleepy. Still, she forced a smile on her face. "So, do you want it or not?" Liam stared at it indecisively. "Mason?"

"It does look good," he allowed. He hesitated, then grabbed it from Liam's desk. "Sorry, bro, you waited too long."

As Mason bit into it, Liam watched apprehensively. Sherry giggled. "Do you really think I'd poison Mason?" The boy scowled and turned toward the front of the classroom.

"Hey," Sherry remembered, "Last night, Donovan was repeating a name. It turned out to be 'Tracy' but for some reason Stiles suspected he was saying 'Theo.' Who's Theo?"

"An omega," he replied, not looking at her. "He showed up during Senior Scribe and defeated some crazy dude. Now he wants to join the pack."

"Why doesn't Stiles trust him?"

Liam shrugged. "Thinks he's an impostor or something. Just overreacting. You know how he treats new people."

"Of course I know," she said. Liam turned around to give her a look of realization and her heart clenched. "I didn't mean it that way."

After class, she still stuck to her resolution to have a positive outlook. She forced herself to tell Mr. S to have a nice day, and flounced out of the classroom. The smile on his face, and the concerned look on Mason's, gave her a deliriously warm feeling somewhere deep inside.

  ➵➵➵  

The sheriff's station was nearly empty at nine p.m. Parrish was out on some duty and the only people left in the building were Officer Clark, the sheriff (dressed in a variation of the same flannel blazer ensemble he'd had on yesterday), and his apparent date, Ms. Martin. Sherry wondered how Stiles' dad and the school counselor had managed to spark a romance.

She leaned back in her uncle's comfy office chair and watched the sheriff greet his date with small talk.

"Thanks for meeting me here," the sheriff said, looking out of place in his nice clothes and fresh haircut. "It's been a hectic day at the station."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't have to cancel again," Ms. Martin smiled shyly.

"Me, too."

Sherry squealed silently and rolled on the chair over to Clark to express how cute she thought the couple was. But Clark was slumped over in an uncharacteristically unofficial way, like she was sleeping on the job. "Hey!" Sherry yelped. "Clark? Are you okay?"

The sheriff heard her. "Clark? What the hell are you doing?"

"I can't move," Clark said, sounding strained. Her head rested on her desk at an awkward angle, her hair pooling around her. Sherry hastily brushed the ponytail to the side and carefully tilted Clark's head so that she lay on the side of her head instead of her nose and forehead.

The front doors banged open. Lydia and Kira burst in frantically, the strawberry blonde warning, "Mom, she's coming! Tracy's coming for you."

"What?" Ms. Martin, who, up to this point, Sherry had not realized was Lydia's mother, pressed. "What do you mean for me?"

A swishing, hissing sound came from the ceiling. Sherry looked up and felt her heart stop and her stomach plummet. Tracy, or some distorted form of her, clung to the rafters above her head, a long scaly tail protruding from her tailbone. Half of her skin, dividing her face and arms in a clear line, crawled with ominous black scales. Her eyes were yellow and slitted. Tracy didn't look even remotely human.

"Oh, God," Sherry squeaked. "What is she?"

"Kanima," the sheriff said, jumping in front of Ms. Martin to guard her. "Don't let her cut you with her tail!

Tracy dropped down, flipping over in the air to land squarely on Parrish's desk. Papers flew into the air and syrupy drops of a clear liquid dripped from the end of her razor-sharp tail, spattering onto an unfortunate complaint form. The paper sizzled. She struck out at the sheriff. He tried to block his body with his arms, but the move still left his hands exposed. In an instant, Tracy had nicked the skin on the back of his hand and he collapsed, unable to move. Ms. Martin backed away, terrified.

"Kira, look out!" Sheriff Stilinski yelled from the floor. Tracy slashed out at the kitsune, dancing around her katana. While the kanima was distracted, Lydia cried, "Mom, run! Run!"

Kira whirled her sword around impressively, leaving a whipping sound in the air. Every time the tail sliced toward her, she had to jump back, until she was far away and Tracy was much too close to an unarmed Lydia.

"No!" Ms. Martin cried out, anguished. She tried to make her way over to her daughter, but Tracy towered in her way, looming closer. As Ms. Martin was cornered, far away from Lydia, she called out again. "Lydia! Lydia!" But then Tracy lunged and Ms. Martin had no choice but to run. She disappeared down the hallway. A second later, the stairwell doors clanged shut.

Lydia fell, stunned by the attack. Tracy's tail had gouged deep into her side and an ominous red stain devoured the girl's floral blouse with every second. Sherry sprinted to Lydia as soon as she could and caught her shoulder right before she hit the linoleum, padding the impact. She shrugged off her jacket and pressed the bulk of it onto her wound. The black fabric, a souvenir from a cheer competition a year ago, hungrily soaked up the blood.

Kira, enraged, stood upon a desk, her sword poised high in the air. A fiery aura luminesced around her. By her head, what almost looked like an outline of a fox's ears and eyes glowed in an uncannily defined shape. Almost in slow motion, the furious Kira slashed into Tracy's serpentine tail, effectively severing it.

The kanima shrieked and fled in the direction of the basement. Where Ms. Martin was. Yet Kira, or this spirit encasing her, just stood there, as though basking in her awesomeness. Then the moment passed, the aura fading, and Kira's head drooped forward.

Lydia just stared. Quickly, Kira recovered from her episode and moved to Lydia's side, taking over from Sherry. She kneeled over Lydia, her black hair mingling with Sherry's brown strands.

The door opened, and from this vantage point, Sherry couldn't see who had just entered.

"Careful," the sheriff said. Sherry guessed, then, that whoever it was must be a friend. Finally, the person came into view.

"Malia?" Lydia whispered.

"Lydia?" She responded, eyes widening.

"Okay, hey, it's not as bad as it looks," Kira said, trying to sound confident, although the scared expression on her face betrayed her real feelings.

"Malia," Lydia repeated, her voice constrained. "Listen. Tracy, she thinks she thinks she's asleep. She thinks she's dreaming. It's a night terror."

Malia shook her head. "I don't know what that-"

"She's not dreaming," Sherry said. "She's not asleep."

Lydia swallowed weakly. "Get her to understand." Still, Malia looked frozen and unsure.

"Malia," Sheriff Stilinski spoke up, "Basement. They're in the basement."

"They?"

"Tracy," Sherry said.

"And my mother."

Malia nodded, taking a deep breath, and took off, dodging between desks to get to the basement. Sherry stood up to follow, but Kira gave her a look. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help," Sherry explained, as if it were obvious. She snatched the sheriff's gun from where it had fallen to the floor and dashed to the basement.

"Hey!" he chided.

Sherry didn't listen. She wanted to make sure Ms. Martin was okay (partly because she was angry that such a cute date had gotten ruined) and needed, really, to help out the pack for once. The basement doors were scored with claw marks when she arrived, and swung wide open. Yellow, solid light shone in a wedge out the opening, and illuminated Tracy's grotesque silhouette when Sherry finally came around the corner, gun aimed firmly in front of her.

The kanima was poised, ready to attack. Her clawed, scaly hand drew away from Ms. Martin like an archer about to shoot. Lydia's mother was unconscious beneath her.

Malia growled and Sherry saw her claws extend from her fingertips. The girl looked up, glaring murderously, and shoved Ms. Martin to the side.

Sherry didn't even need a gun. Malia and Tracy flew at each other, claws flying. Within a moment, Malia had Tracy pinned to the floor, the girl's throat caught under her knee. Tracy choked.

"Tracy?" Sherry yelped, worried. "Tracy!"

Tracy's slitted eyes flooded with a layer of the same silver liquid that had dripped from her mouth like drool earlier, when she had fainted. Then the liquid cleared and

Tracy's eyes were back to normal, looking human once again. She blinked, dazed, as if she were about to doze off.

"No, no, no," Malia added hastily, shaking her. "Look at me. You're not dreaming. This is real. All- all this is real. You get it?" she said, "You get that? You're not dreaming, Tracy."

"What- What's happening to me?" Tracy whispered, her voice cracking. Her eyes widened in panic as she stared around her, at an unconscious Ms. Martin and the slowly fading scale pattern on her own skin.

Static filled the air, piercing into Sherry's mind. Her head filled with a sudden buzzing as the lights flickered. Long shadows illuminated the doorway and a heavy metal hand slammed into Sherry's head, leaving her crying out in pain as she was propelled to the concrete floor. Her vision blurred with dancing yellow light.

The figures slowly came into view, three men in grimy metal suits that reminded Sherry of a factory or nineteenth-century train station. One of the men knocked a heavy metal arm into Malia, shoving her against the wall. He then took slow, clunking steps toward the center of the room — and thrust a sword into the awestruck Tracy. "Terminal."

 


	22. Revelations

_↣So many times it happens too fast↢_   
_↣You trade your passion for glory↢_   
_↣Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past↢_   
_↣You must fight just to keep them alive↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 22** **➵** **Revelations**

* * *

 

 

Far away, an ambulance siren rang out, its shrill song oscillating. The men in the metal suits were gone now, but Sherry couldn't quite remember when they'd disappeared - in fact, she started to doubt whether it had happened at all. Footsteps pounded outside, crescendoing as they reached the end of the concrete hallway. Scott, Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski, and Deaton swung into the room, silent and apprehensive. Sherry realized that Ms. Martin was no longer in the room, an improvement she hadn't quite registered until then.

Immediately, Stiles approached Malia, a questioning look in his eyes that reflected those of the other two.

"It wasn't me," Malia first blurted. Scott knelt down next to Tracy, examining her.

"What the hell happened to her?" the sheriff breathed.

"There were these people," Malia stammered, "They had masks. There- there were three of them."

"What- what are you talking about?" Stiles murmured. Sherry had the sense that he didn't believe her.

"They were strong, Stiles," Malia pleaded, a desperate look on her face. "They had a weapon; Stiles, I didn't do this!"

"I saw it," Sherry affirmed, attracting attention toward herself for the first time.

The sheriff's eyes widened. "Are you hurt?" When Sherry shook her head no, he offered a hand to help her up. She grasped his arm gratefully, letting him pull her to standing. As she shot up, she was hit by a sudden nausea, likely from the blow to her head. She nearly fell over again, but she leaned against the cement wall and tried to shake it off.

"She's not changing back," Deaton said from Tracy's side, turning over the girl's head and forearms with focused attention. "We're going to need to get her out of here."

"What?" the sheriff retorted. "Hey, absolutely not." Everyone gaped at him. "This is a crime scene," he explained in an authoritative tone. "We call the coroner."

"I think the coroner might be very confused by this girl's severed reptilian tail," Deaton countered.

"I don't care!"

"You should," Deaton continued. "Unless you're prepared to hold a press conference announcing the presence of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills."

Sherry couldn't understand why the Sheriff was arguing this now, what made him decide to start intervening. Stiles agreed. "Dad, he's right."

"There's a line," the sheriff started. Sherry could almost detect a flicker of doubt. "There is a line we have to draw."

"Dad, you've already crossed it," Stiles reasoned. "More than once."

He looked torn.

"Sheriff, please," Deaton said. "Let me help. I've dealt with things like this before."

Sheriff Stilinski faltered. Sighing, he relented, "Just do it fast."

Deaton nodded and lifted Tracy up. He nodded to Scott, tossing him a ring of keys. "Unlock my car."

The two of them rushed from the room.

Timidly, Sherry turned to Stiles and his father. "Is Lydia okay?"

"She always survives," Stiles said, but the worry tinging his voice only made Sherry more scared.

"I need to see if she's okay," Sherry said, and darted for the stairs. As she took a step, she stumbled and her vision blurred. She tilted sideways, knocking into the door.

"Sherry!" the sheriff exclaimed.

She blinked, trying to clear her foggy vision as she righted herself and kept going. "I'm fine," she called as she raced up the stairs.

When she got to the main lobby, she saw that paramedics were loading Lydia into the ambulance while Ms. Martin held her hand. Sherry wasn't sure who that reassured more, Lydia or her panic-stricken mother.

Clark watched the process as well, a somewhat stupefied expression on her face. Kira and someone familiar stood by the ambulance, whispering. As Sherry ran toward them, the ambulance started up and sped away.

"How is she?" Sherry gasped, panting. She stared at Kira, whose face was paler than usual.

"Lydia will be okay." It wasn't Kira who answered, though. Sherry looked up and was startled by the face she saw. The boy with the pretty hair from AP Bio. She'd already forgotten his name.

"You?" she blinked, confused. "What are you doing here?" The question was directed more to Kira than to him, as though silently asking how, and what, this boy knew.

"I came to help," he said.

Looking forlorn, Kira watched the ambulance disappear as Stiles, Malia, and the sheriff appeared from the basement. Scott came running back then, too, as Deaton drove away with Tracy.

Stiles pulled his keys out of his back pocket, his hand jittery. "Let's go."

The group of them arrived at the hospital not long after.

"Stiles," Mrs. McCall said, greeting them in her sea-foam green nurse's scrubs.

The boy looked up, anxiously twisting his hands together. "How bad is it?"

"Could've been worse," she answered curtly, turning to pretty hair boy. "Theo, nice going on that tourniquet."

Sherry remembered. Theo. He'd said his name on the first day of school, yet for some reason it had blanked from her mind. And hadn't Liam told her about Stiles being suspicious of some Theo? The two boys had stalked him for a whole evening to see if he would do anything suspicious.

"You probably saved her life," Mrs. McCall continued. She sighed and looked around at the seven of them (Liam had just joined the party, and the sheriff had stayed at the station to clean up). Lowering her voice, she said, "Alright. She's about to go into surgery, so it's going to be a while." She was even softer now, wary of anyone that might eavesdrop. "Any other supernatural details that I need to know about, or do we just stitch her up and hope for the best?"

"It was the tail," Kira said. Sherry's heart sank. How could a hospital treat a goring from magical, toxic reptilian tail?

"Yeah, Tracy cut her with the tail, if that makes a difference," Scott affirmed.

"Okay," Mrs. McCall nodded, and headed back to attend Lydia.

Malia fidgeted uncomfortably. "But it wasn't just Tracy," she said. "There were others. The guys in the masks."

Sherry couldn't see how that actually related to Lydia's injury, but she agreed anyway. "They were in metal suits and said Tracy's condition was terminal."

Stiles pressed his lips together and glanced between them, still unconvinced.

➵➵➵

In bio the next morning, the students were assigned the classic strawberry DNA lab. Sherry, as per class custom, worked with the boy next to her - whose name she'd already forgotten, to her embarrassment - and was openly thankful that she didn't have to be stuck with Stiles or Fred, like last year. This boy knew exactly what he was doing and wasn't persnickety about it either. He carried charming small talk through the entire lab time, making little jokes here and there about the subject, like a good-natured quip about whether the strawberry's DNA would taste as sweet as the fruit it came from, since it was the core of the strawberry's being, anyway. Sherry responded that it probably wouldn't, since they'd put in dish-washing fluid to distill the DNA. And, just as Stiles and Fred had thrown Sherry hostile looks before, the boy offered her small compliments now. He noted how fast it had taken her to write out most of the pre-lab and how organized her data tables were. He even said she was amazingly interesting to talk to.

When Sherry called to Scott to borrow an extra cheesecloth (and gave him a high five upon seeing how well he and Kira were doing so far), her lab partner casually asked if she knew Scott.

Once the lab was all wrapped up and the tables were cleaned, Mrs. Finch paced at the front of the room, gearing up for the last leg of her signature lecture before the bell. For some reason, Sherry noticed, teachers at this school had almost a revulsion to the use of PowerPoint presentations and whiteboards.

"If 99.9% of our DNA sequence is the same as other humans, what could account for the missing 0.1% difference?" Mrs. Finch finally began, as suddenly as ever. "Sherry?"

Sherry sat up straighter and tore her gaze away from the perfect hair of the boy beside her. "Um, nucleotides."

"That's right," she conceded. Her gray eyes flicked to a raised hand in the front row. "Yes, Kira?"

"Can there be more than one species in the same DNA?"

"No," she said, "But there can be multiple sets of DNA in the same individual. We call that a chimera." She turned her attention back to the rest of the class, her bird-of-prey eyes hovering briefly on each fidgeting student. "Anyone know where that term comes from? Sydney?"

"Greek mythology," the girl said, peeking occasionally at something hidden under the table. "It's a lion with a goat coming out of its back and a tail that ends in the head of a snake."

"That's right, Sydney." Then, wryly, she smiled. "Do you want to read us the full Wikipedia entry off your phone?"

Sydney's eyes widened and she hastily stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

"But," Mrs. Finch continued, "That does get us into the next topic of mutation. As you know from the reading, DNA is a fragile molecule." Once again, she picked out an unsuspecting student victim. "Isn't it, Scott? Or did you miss last night's assigned reading?"

"Kind of," he said, and Sherry's heart plummeted. She hadn't even considered lately what a toll the recent supernatural events were taking on his grades. Didn't he want to become a vet? Go to UC Davis?

"Kind of or yes?" the teacher pressed, and Sherry stared at her, her eyes hardening.

"Mostly yes."

"Well, then thank you for another helpful transition in topic. Drop forms." She produced a stack of white papers from her desk and glided across the room, setting a form on Sydney's desk and continuing to several other students'. "All those now acutely aware that they do not belong in this class, you should fill one out." She eyed Scott appraisingly. "The rest will be on my desk."

The moment the bell rang, Sherry mustered up the courage and prepared for the impending embarrassment. She zipped around the rows of lab benches, determined, and attacked Scott with a hug before he could leave. She felt like she was hugging a tree, a flat one that was soft and warm and smelled vaguely of wet dog fur.

Scott, startled, returned the gesture. She could feel the eyes of her friends watching her in astonishment. "What's this for?"

"Don't even think about dropping bio," she iterated. "Don't do it."

➵➵➵

"Can you put your phone away for five minutes?" Mason whined. "Scott can howl if he needs you."

Liam grumbled. "I just feel like I should be doing something."

"You are," Mason insisted. "You're my wing man tonight. And considering the state of my dating life, I need a wing man, co-pilot and a really hot flight attendant."

"Um," Sherry said, her hands cold even in the supposed warmth of her jacket pockets.

"I'm definitely not your hot flight attendant," Liam retorted at the same time. He stood on the opposite side of Mason, occasionally sending awkward looks at Sherry. It seemed that with her sudden change in attitude the other day, he couldn't quite figure out what to make of her.

"Okay, yeah, choices are limited," Mason admitted, "But at least here, you can get drunk."

The silvery back door of the night club swung open. Inside was darkness and hints of pounding music and a strobe light somewhere farther inside. A familiar girl stood at the threshold, crossing her arms disapprovingly at them. "I said I'd let you in," said Hayden. "Not him." Her eyes flicked to Liam.

Mason blinked. "You said I could have a plus one."

"I didn't say plus Liam."

"I'm his flight attendant," Liam supplied helpfully, and Sherry wanted to kick him.

"What?" said Hayden.

"Wing man," Liam explained. He glanced at her expression and sighed. "Forget it. I don't have to go in."

"No, you're coming," Mason insisted. He looked back at Hayden's unhappy face and sighed. "May I bring Sherry, too?"

Hayden swiveled her head, finally noticing the shivering girl's presence. She grinned and pounced on her with a hug. "Sherry! You're welcome anytime. Just... don't drink."

"I wasn't planning to."

Satisfied, Hayden glanced at the boys' bemused expressions and frowned. "I can't believe you're friends with these bozos."

Mason rolled his eyes. "So can we come in?"

Hayden glared at him, and he sighed, pulling out a green bill. "How about me, him... plus fifty."

Still unhappy, Hayden relented, snatching the cash out of his hand. "Welcome to Sinema."

As soon as they were past the beaded curtain inside, Hayden left to work, but Sherry hardly noticed. All she could see was a riot of neon and an assortment of dancing twenty-somethings that reminded her exactly why she avoided school dances.

"We don't look old enough to be here," Liam observed uncertainly. He eyed the part of the club that wouldn't normally appear at a school dance - metal poles and half naked strippers swaying to the music.

"Neither does he," Mason added, motioning to a tall, curly-haired boy that Sherry wasn't sure if she recognized. The boys definitely did, though.

The boy in question, who was dancing with a similarly tall, pretty girl, then turned one-hundred-eighty degrees and began grinding on some other athletic, dark-haired boy.

Liam nudged Mason again. "So is this club mixed?"

He nodded. "Ish."

Sherry shrank into herself. "Why'd you have to bring me?"

"Reasons." Then, Mason, taking it upon himself to go talk to the dancing boy, patted Liam on his shoulder and excused himself.

Sherry, feeling highly uncomfortable, sidled up to Liam. Shouting above the deafening music, she said, "What do we do now?"

Liam stared around the club, seemingly looking for something, and Sherry was uncertain whether he'd actually heard her. His jaw was set in his trademark concentrated look, his eyes scanning the pulsing room intently.

Sherry inched closer to him, her heartbeat picking up. As the deputy sheriff's niece, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly guilty just by standing in this room. And she was certain anybody who actually looked would be able to tell that this fifteen-year-old girl definitely wasn't twenty-one or older. That wasn't even mentioning how out of place she felt. She just wanted to curl up in a ball. Or leave. Or both, preferably.

Finally, Liam began to move and Sherry hastened to catch up, not wanting to be left alone in this breeding ground of claustrophobia. Mason and the boy were sitting down, chatting, but as soon as the boy saw Liam, he jumped up to greet him. But his gaze focused on Sherry.

"I'm Brett," he announced, grinning. With a pointed side-glance at Liam, he said, "You're too cute to be friends with him."

She had no idea how to respond to that. "Um," she stumbled, "Thanks, but, um-"

"Watch your slobbery mouth," Liam bit out, snatching Sherry's left hand.

She froze, not knowing how to react except completely stiffening as everything disappeared but the rough skin of Liam's palm and the way his hand seemed to radiate more heat than was possible for someone in perfect health but maybe it was a werewolf side effect or maybe he really did have a fever and he still hated her and this was all part of his master plan to get her sick and dying-

And then she realized the boys were saying something, unaware of her inner crisis, so she tried to loosen up, tried to smile, and tried to look normal.

"No, I didn't catch anything," Brett was saying.

"No one else in here's like us?" Liam said, uncertainty wavering in in his voice.

"I don't know, dude," he sighed. "Maybe. It's Beacon Hills. What's the difference?"

"It felt different," Liam insisted.

"What do you mean?"

"It felt off. It felt wrong."

Mason joined them, glancing across the room. "Hey," he said, "Uh, do you see that guy?" He pointed to a teenager-or-possibly-adult who lurked by a corner not far away. "He keeps looking over here. Do you know him?"

"Yeah," said Brett. "That's Lucas."

A grin slowly formed on Mason's face and he nodded, straightening his shirt as he left to approach Lucas.

"'Scuse me," Brett said, and then sauntered off to go dance again.

Liam, his hand still gripping Sherry's, sniffed the air, still trying for a scent of something supernatural.

Pressing into him, Sherry wondered, "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know."

Hayden appeared amid the crowd, balancing a tray of green test tubes that Sherry suspected were filled with liquor. "Watch out," Sherry warned, pulling on Liam's arm, but he didn't notice. He knocked right into Hayden, sending the test tubes spilling all over the floor.

"Are you kidding me?" Hayden snapped, her face falling. "These were ten dollars each. The bartender isn't just gonna refill them for me."

"Okay," Liam apologized, "I've got money; I've got money." He felt around his jacket, fishing around. "Twelve dollars, and, uhh... change." He dropped it all into Hayden's hand, but she was not impressed.

She threw the coins back at him. "You still owe me two hundred." Then she noticed Liam and Sherry's enjoined hands, sniffing. "So that's how it is."

Liam immediately let go of her hand, flushing red, and Sherry's heart sank.

"Dropping everything today, huh?" Hayden said. She turned to Sherry. "He's a crap person. Trust me." Then she stalked away.

Liam grumbled. A split second later, his head snapped up. "Something's happening."

He raced through the people, and Sherry, weighing her options, decided she'd rather risk getting clawed to death than to stay among the grinding bodies. She pushed her way after him.

At a secluded part of the night club, or as secluded as a place like Sinema could get, Mason stood backed up against a wall, terrified. A brawl was already taking place. Brett's eyes glowed yellow — why hadn't anyone told Sherry he was a werewolf? — and he threw a muscular male figure across the floor in one swift motion. " _Run!_ " he growled. Mason ran.

Brett swept the other boy - Lucas? - from the ground and pummeled him. As Sherry got closer, she saw spikes, or miniature shark fins, extruded from Lucas's limbs, back, and neck. It was almost as disturbing as reptilian Tracy.

Liam held his arm in front of Sherry, what Sherry realized was meant to be a protective gesture. But she could fight much better unrestrained by a bar. As Lucas slashed his talons into Brett's thigh, Sherry backtracked, retracing her steps through the deafening throngs of people to find Hayden. Luckily, the girl was obvious, arguing with a shirtless bartender.

"Hayden Hayden Hayden," Sherry gasped. "I need a fire extinguisher."

She balked. "Liam set Sinema on fire?"

"No, not yet at least, but please hurry-"

"Is it life or death?"

"Yes yes, it is!"

Suspicious, she clicked her heels toward a far wall and returned with the red canister.

"Thank you ohmygosh," Sherry rushed, and sprinted back to the fight.

Theo, temporarily incapacitated, lay on the floor as Lucas had Liam pinned underneath him.

"Watch out!" Sherry ordered to Liam, and then sprayed foam at Lucas without waiting for him to comply.

Lucas screeched. The foam clouded over his jet black eyes, sending him into a blind frenzy. Liam slammed the flailing creature to the floor just as Scott and Kira appeared.

Kira, in polka-dotted jeans and flaring orange irises, extracted a long metal katana from where it had acted as her outfit's belt, poising it directly above Lucas's head. The girl Sherry usually associated with butterflies and squirrels looked downright murderous.

As she swung her blade forward, Lucas rolled to the side, his barbed arms tucked into his sides. He leapt to his feet once more, kicking out his leg at her. Unswayed, Kira struck again, but Lucas dodged, the broad side of the katana pressing into him benignly.

Kira backed up. She took a running leap and kicked. She spun in the air, her foot knocking Lucas on the side of his bald head. He splayed on the ground and Kira swung her sword up again, a bright sienna fox aura lighting up around her again, just like that night at the sheriff's station. The hologram seemed to mask her face. She spoke out in quick, unintelligible Japanese, and sliced down like an executioner. Her arm froze halfway.

Scott had stopped her, diving his arm under her wrists. Slowly, the fox aura faded, and left Kira blinking in confusion.

➵➵➵

Sherry came home expecting Parrish to already be there, but the house was silent. Before she went to bed, she checked her grades one more time, and groaned. Her ninety-four in AP Bio had unexpectedly slipped to an eighty-five. She wanted to kick something. That was nearly ten percent! But she didn't. Angrily, she went to sleep.

At two a.m, she briefly woke up, thinking she smelled something burning. But the smoke detector was silent, so she ignored it and slid back into unconsciousness.


	23. Unraveling

_↣Now everybody asks me why I'm smiling out from ear to ear↢_   
_↣(They say love hurts)↢_   
_↣But I know (It's gonna take a little work)↢_   
_↣Nothing's perfect, but it's worth it after fighting through my tears↢_   
_↣And finally you put me first↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 23** **➵** **Unraveling**

* * *

 

 

"He's not picking up," Sherry said, checking her phone one last time before stuffing it in her pocket. "He said he was coming."

"Oh," said Theo, grimacing. He lounged in the library chair, looking up from the brick-like AP Bio textbook. "He must have forgotten. You know how often things come up unexpectedly in Beacon Hills."

"I guess," she sighed, slipping into the seat across from him. She took out the recent biology test, fighting the urge to mar out her score in ink made from a black hole. "So. Teach me your smart secrets?"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "I don't know what you're referring to there. I just study a lot."

"Yeah, but," she spluttered, "I do too! But I actually failed the last test and you got a  _perfect score_. Help!"

His blue eyes twinkled and Sherry wondered for a moment whether he'd made some sort of deal with Satan to achieve such perfection. He had smarts, muscles, pretty eyes, pretty hair, and even (Sherry hated to admit it) a pretty face. She considered asking him for the devil's phone number.

"Let's start with your test," Theo suggested, peering at the purple packet. He didn't even bat an eye at her score. "I think we should review RNA."

Sherry nodded. "'Kay."

For the next half hour or so, Sherry and Theo studied biology together, but it wasn't long before the conversation shifted from relationships among organelles to relationships with the pack.

"How long have you known Scott?" Theo asked. They'd moved their chairs closer over time, mostly to avoid the librarian glaring at them for talking. He now sat at a side adjacent to Sherry's, his sharp blue eyes uncomfortably close.

"Since January," she answered, and suddenly realized that it had really been seven months since she'd moved to Beacon Hills. "You?"

"Since second grade," he said, which shocked her. "But I moved in fourth grade. He barely remembers me from then."

"Oh, that sucks," she commiserated. "So you knew Stiles then, too?"

"Yeah, but he's almost convinced that I'm not the same person from fourth grade. He thinks I'm some Mad-Eye Moody level impostor and I can't tell whether or not that's a compliment."

"Bartemius Crouch Jr. did get found out in the end, though."

He grinned, exposing perfectly pearly whites. "I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, how's it going with the beta? Liam's your age, isn't he?"

At this, Sherry pulled her feet up onto the chair and hugged her knees to her chest. Resting her chin on her kneecaps, she muttered, "I don't even know."

"Do you think you're not good enough for him? That he doesn't like you?" Theo questioned, his voice soft like a therapist's.

She didn't answer.

"It's okay; a lot of people think that," he assured her. "But I think you're a nice kid, if that means anything."

"Nice doesn't mean likable."

"What makes you think that?"

"Okay, tell me then. If you were Liam, would you possibly have a crush on me?"

Theo laughed. "Are you asking me if I'm your type? No offense, but you're a little young for me."

She balked. "What? No!"

"Just kidding! Anyway, in all seriousness, the only way to find out is to ask. Why don't you?"

"He doesn't like me like that. I saw him interact with another girl the other day, and he was just as nice to her as he is to me. It's conceited to think that he likes me more."

"You won't know until you try," Theo repeated. "And you're pretty smart; you'll figure out a way. Trust me."

For some reason, right then, she trusted him.

➵ ➵➵

For another unforeseen reason, Liam readily agreed to meet her at a local coffeehouse at four. For a different reason, which Sherry had actually anticipated, he turned out to be struggling in English, a subject she had no issues with. They sat at a booth in the Abbey Street coffee shop, with books and worksheets in front of them and nothing between them but thin summer wear and six inches of humid, coffee-permeated air.

Sherry leaned over Liam's copy of the poem "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou, instructing the boy on the proper techniques of literary annotations. She referred to a set of three highlighters and colorful pens, explaining the basics of color-coding. He floundered for a good ten minutes, apparently baffled by the sorcery of organization. She couldn't tell whether he was actually that clueless or if he was faking. Either way, she found that it was a good opportunity to scoot closer to him every time he messed up.

It wasn't long before Liam started smiling every time their hands brushed, if smiling was even the right term. He had a wide grin that showed no teeth and crinkled at the corners; his eyes grew in both surprise and happiness.

As she explained literary devices, using "Liam is a wolf" jokingly as a metaphor, she could feel the barriers between them cracking and crumbling, their little laughs and one-liners acting as sledgehammers and graffiti on the Berlin Wall. He started to poke her, nudge her to get her attention (not like it had been lost), and it took all of her willpower not to flinch away again. Love, or "like," even, wasn't an all-curing elixir. Love didn't come from an intrinsic feeling of comfort. It came from perseverance.

Sherry reminded herself of her plan. She had to make a move, as Theo had said, but it required devious preparations. She'd checked off steps one and two: Get Liam Alone, and Make Him Like Me. Letting out a small breath, Sherry geared up for step three and changed the subject.

"I heard Kylie Pendery, on varsity soccer, is going to Homecoming with some guy Dana Vaughns, who is supposed to be in a boy band," she gossiped, leaning against Liam. "And the quarterback Jack Rydell is bringing Caterina Stevenson. Her uncles are apparently hunters and travel the country in a muscle car."

"Hunters?" Liam yelped. "Like the Argents?"

"No, normal hunters," she said. "I think. Anyway, who else is going to Homecoming?"

"Not the pack," he said. "They have bad experiences from Winter Formal two years ago."

"Oh," she said, brainstorming a solution to this roadblock. "But you don't, right?"

"No, I wasn't there," he said, which was exactly the reason why she'd asked that question. She adjusted her hair, moving it from one shoulder to the other, and glanced up at him, hoping he'd get the hint. He didn't.

She sighed, mostly to herself, and said, "I usually avoid school dances too."

"Why?"

"Because I usually don't know anyone," she explained. "It's awkward to stand alone at the side, eating vending machine snacks."

"I take it you have experience?"

"Nope. Because I don't give myself the opportunity to."

His eyes lit up. "Oh! If I was your date, would you go? You wouldn't be alone then." Finally! There it was! Granted, it was still more of a pity ask, but step three was checked off her list. She could have asked herself, but her goal was to make him interested in her. That involved making him feel like he was.

"Maybe," she answered coyly, "But I'll have to check my schedule. And is this an official Homecoming ask?"

"Uh..."

"Because usually the asker makes a poster or something."

"I'll get a poster!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I'll decorate it with markers, and ribbons, and- and even glitter, too-"

"I'm kidding," she said, laughing. "What's the point of a poster except attention?" Which wasn't exactly true, but the statement served her purposes. It proved he was willing to work for her.

Nodding, he agreed. "I'd say I'll pick you up, but, um, I don't have a car."

"It's perfectly alright," she said, hugging him. He froze, taken aback, and hesitated for a moment before squeezing her back. She would have been pleased about another step checked off, but she hadn't realized how good his hug would feel. She basked in happiness, breathing in his furry smell, and hoped nothing would go wrong this year.

➵ ➵➵

She found out, later, that Scott, Kira, Stiles, and Lydia had gone to the Eichen House without her to track down some three-eyed man, and that Kira had caused an electrical shortcircuiting that let the Dread Doctors (apparently, the men in the metal suits who had killed Tracy) get to the three-eyed man. She was still slightly confused, but all she understood was that Kira had an issue with her kitsune powers and that the pack had lost another chess piece.

She had less important things to worry about instead, like last-minute dress shopping with Lydia and Kira at noon. Lydia, because of obvious shopping-related reasons, and Kira, because Sherry liked her sense of style more anyway. The main reason they'd agreed to come, though, was that the girls needed to recover from the traumatic incident last night - and getting their minds off things temporarily would help. Malia, however, had corralled herself into her bedroom, needing time to think, and claimed she knew nothing about fashion anyway. And Mason, though he did claim the title of "Gay Best Friend," knew nothing about fashion and even less about gossip.

Which there seemed to be a lack of, for once, and it was oddly disheartening for Sherry to have to start all the conversations herself when her friends were too caught up in mulling over events to comment lightheartedly.

"Why don't you guys go home?" Sherry finally said, pausing in rifling through another rack of dresses. "You need rest, and you're probably itching to do something, so just go! I can do my hair and makeup myself; a dance isn't as important as saving lives. Okay?"

Lydia shook herself, plastering on a glossed smile. "I'm fantastic! I love shopping."

"Yeah, but you're not even doing anything anyway. Go home," Sherry repeated, frowning at both the strawberry-blonde and Kira.

Kira reached out to touch a metal rack, but quickly retracted, the fear on her face clearly reflecting her haywire electricity incident. "By the way," she said, distracted, "My parents said you're invited over for dinner tomorrow. If you want."

"I'd love to!" Sherry grinned, thankful for something new. "I'm dying for some Asian food. Homestyle stuff, not Panda Express."

"That's what I told my dad." Her voice faded again, which was frighteningly uncharacteristically un-Kira, and Sherry once again prodded her to go home. If Kira wasn't rambling on awkwardly about something, there was something very wrong with her. Something that, hopefully, a day's rest would fix.

"Hey," said Lydia just as hollowly, "Has Parrish said anything about me? Or jiu-jitsu?"

➵ ➵➵

Short, tight, black, and glittery was about as accurate a description of her dress as any, and Liam barely glanced at it has he offered her his arm. If he'd checked her out before approaching her, she hadn't noticed, but her inner voice sang that even with the curled hair and outlined eyes Lydia'd spent an hour fussing over, she still wasn't worth looking at. It hurt, but she grinned and bore it.

Mason was there, too, in a nice black tux and a blue satin tie. As soon as the trio made it though the front doors, though, he departed with a knowing look at Liam and Sherry. Then he disappeared into the mass of grinding teenagers to find himself a cute boy.

"So," Sherry said, unlinking her arm from Liam's to grab his hand, "What does a high school student normally do at a dance?"

"Dance, I'd assume," he replied, and began to lead her toward the center of the decorated gym.

She paled. When coming up with her masterplan of Make Liam My Boyfriend, she hadn't quite thought this part through. It hadn't occurred to her that there would be anything other than romantic slow dancing. "Cool kids don't dance," she said.

"Since when were you cool?"

"Ouch," she pouted. "Since I assimilated into the ruling pack of BHHS. But, Liam, I'm serious. I don't dance."

"I don't either," he admitted, then had a thought. "Aren't you a cheerleader?"

"Fine," she allowed reluctantly, "I only dance when I'm given choreography. Not when I have the chance to make a fool of myself."

He paused. "So... no dancing at all?"

"Only slow dancing," she winked, hoping that didn't come across as too forward. She wasn't sure where the line between flirty and desperate lay. "Until then, let's go hang out."

She pulled the boy over to a small group of girls, several of whom Sherry knew from her classes. Hayden was among them, dressed in a slinky blue bodycon dress. She nearly flew over to envelop Sherry in a tight hug, then stuck her tongue out at Liam. "That's cute. Did you bring Mister Tantrum here because you were feeling sorry for him?"

Sherry felt Liam tense up beside her, and she quickly replied, "No, actually-"

Hayden rolled her heavily made-up eyes. "I was kidding, Sherry. You're too nice. But for real," she continued, glancing around at her friends, "Are you two dating?"

"No!" Liam blurted immediately. Sherry said the same simultaneously, but with much less enthusiasm. Her good mood sank a little.

"Still," Hayden reminded Sherry, "Stay away from him. I hate him for a reason."

"I'll keep that in mind," she answered, then excused herself along with Liam. She loved the girl, but she could only stand so much negativity in on conversation. "Let's dance," she whispered.

➵ ➵➵

The house was decorated in a distinct Japanese style, with glossy wood-paneled floors and soft blossoms decorating the wallpaper. Little wooden and golden statuettes decorated the tops of cabinets and bookshelves. Savory soup scents wafted from the kitchen, where Mr. Yukimura, clad in an apron that resembled knight's armor, waved enthusiastically at Sherry with a wooden spoon still in his hand.

"Hi, Mr. Yukimura," she said. "What are you making?"

"Guksu," he said, then clarified, "Noodle soup. Sorry, I forgot you don't speak Korean either. Kira told me your dad was Chinese."

"At least I know the names of Korean food," Kira retorted. "And Japanese food."

"That hardly counts, Kira," Mrs. Yukimura said, appearing from around a corner. She was very pretty and looked young for her age, but for some reason had an older, wiser aura. Not a visible one, like Kira's last two incidents. She finished tying her hair up into a bun and smiled at Sherry. "So we finally meet. I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" Sherry squeaked, genuinely shocked. She wasn't sure what she'd done that deserved being talked about.

"Yes," Kira's mother answered. "Kira says you went to visit relatives in Hong Kong over the summer."

"That's where she got her hair colored pink," Kira explained, gesturing to Sherry's slowly fading dip-dyed strands.

"Both of Kira's parents are Asian, yet she's never been out of the US," Mrs. Yukimura continued. "She also doesn't speak a word of any language but English."

"I'm in Spanish 4," Kira argued.

"Do you know any Chinese?" Mrs. Yukimura barreled on, ignoring her daughter's protests.

"A bit," Sherry answered, sitting down with the rest of the family when Mr. Yukimura finally brought out the finished soup, dumplings, and rice. "I went to Chinese language school on the weekends for several years. And my grandparents spoke only Chinese."

"Which dialects?" Mr. Yukimura questioned, not taking off his apron as he spooned portions of soup into bowls. A matching chainmail-print oven mitt protected his other hand.

"I know Mandarin mostly, but my grandparents and dad also spoke Cantonese and Chaozhounese."

"That's interesting," he said, looking like the intrigued history teacher he was. "Did you know that the other name for the Chaozhou people from the eastern Guangdong province is Teochew, and many of those people now live in-"

Kira leaned over and whispered into Sherry's ear, "Ask about his armor."

"What's with the armor?" Sherry asked, hoping she wouldn't sound rude for interrupting him.

Mr. Yukimura beamed, like he'd been waiting all his life to answer that question. "I got it on a trip to the Hampton Court Palace in London! It represents the armor of the knights who historically used to reside at the palace, which was originally built by the archbishop Thomas Wolsey of York, who, funny story, was actually visited by Henry VIII and-"

"Ken," Mrs. Yukimura chided, "Not now. Wait until Monday."

"What's on Monday?"

"Your actual history class. Which you are paid to teach."

"Oh," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."

Kira rolled her eyes. "This happens every day," she explained to Sherry. "He gets wind of something vaguely historical, then goes on about it for an hour or so."

"I think it's interesting."

"Kiss-up."

"No, really!" Sherry insisted. "My parents used to talk about nothing but school and the HOA. And Parrish is never around to talk at all."

"See?" Mr. Yukimura crowed. " _Someone_  likes my history fun facts. Maybe you should transfer to  _my_  world history class."

"I would, but I'm taking AP," she apologized. "Sorry."

"Darn it!" He scowled in mock disappointment.

The rest of dinner went about the same way. Mrs. Yukimura asked polite, non-intrusive questions. Mr. Yukimura cracked dad jokes at every opportunity, taking glee in his daughter's embarrassment. And Kira gladly talked about the supernatural, informing Sherry at one point that Mrs. Yukimura was also a kitsune - and an old one at that.

Afterward, Sherry and Kira collapsed on the girl's soft bed, discussing mysteries, relationships, and college. As they chatted about extracurriculars, Sherry mentioned, "I used to take wushu lessons."

"Are you good?"

"Sorta. I finished my black belt last year and quit after that. But it's not that hard to get a black belt, you know. You just have to do a fancy routine, do an aerial, and survive some conditioning."

"I don't know about you, but that sound pretty advanced to me," Kira laughed. "Even I can't do an aerial."

"I bet you could when you get all fired up and have that fiery fox aura thing."

Kira fell silent, staring at her nails. "I have a feeling the fox is around even when you can't see it."

"Why? Is it like a demon?"

She shook her head. "I dunno. I'm afraid that the next time I get in a fight, I might actually kill someone. The other day I asked Scott to look for something with his wolf eyes and he ended up staring at me - or a couple inches above me - for a little too long."

"Did he tell you what he saw?"

"He said there was nothing, but I'm pretty sure he lied," she said semi-bitterly. "I'm not as oblivious as everyone thinks. He had this look on his face, like he was surprised. And not in the good way, either."

"You should tell your mom about your fox," Sherry urged. "She's been a kitsune for ages, hasn't she? Maybe she should know what's going on."

Kira nodded. "Tonight. I'll tell her tonight."


	24. Rejuvenation

_↣And if we've only got this life↢_   
_↣You get me through↢_   
_↣And if we've only got this life↢_   
_↣In this adventure oh then I↢_   
_↣Want to share it with you↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 24** **➵** **Rejuvenation**

* * *

 

 

The next day Sherry pranced into school with a box of pink cupcakes. Parrish had shooed her out of the house as soon as he possibly could, but a quick glance into her cupcake box showed that he'd stolen two of the cakes. Typical, she thought, but she didn't mind. Her soul was soaring today.

Sherry wore a short circle skirt the same color as the frosting and a lace-edged white crop top. The skirt fluttered in the August breeze and her freshly curled ringlets bounced with her every step.

She blew into AP Bio humming the Hairspray soundtrack and offered Ms. Finch a cupcake. The teacher, eyeing Sherry warily, accepted the cake and noted, "Can you tell me how many calories are in this?"

"According to Google, about 130," Sherry grinned.

"And how much ATP is that?"

Sherry hesitated, then pulled out her phone. "Um... approximately zero-point-zero-two moles. I think." She grinned again and skipped to her seat. "Good morning."

Ms. Finch raised an eyebrow in bemusement. "You are the happiest person I've ever seen on a Monday morning."

Sherry just beamed and flipped open her textbook to read from tomorrow's lesson. She'd already studied today's. Soon enough, other students filtered into the classroom, dressed in drab shades of gray and black. No one quite seemed to notice her, not even her friends, which normally would have prompted her ego-meter to sink, but today hardly affected her at all. She flounced around the room and placed cupcakes at Lydia's, Kira's, Scott's, and Theo's seats. And just because she felt like it, she gave one to Sydney as well, who still seemed to be fidgety about the drop slips.

It took Lydia, Scott, and Kira a double- or triple-take before they finally realized that the bouncing sophomore in pink was, in fact, Sherry Ming. Theo didn't show up until a minute before the bell, but when he did, he just chuckled and held his arms out for a hug.

Sherry, glad that finally someone was speaking her language, squeezed him as tightly as she could around his tree trunk-like torso. She let go a few moments later and sat lightly into her seat, wondering, "What was that for?" simply because she was curious.

"Couldn't let you steal all the fun for the rest of us," he joked, ruffling her hair. "And I think we all need a little joy in our lives right now."

She patted his arm. "I know how you feel."

"I don't doubt it." He chomped into his cupcake. "We should talk sometime."

Sherry nodded eagerly. "Totally."

"We're studying again today, right?"

"Yep. And Scott promised he'd come this time."

Mason and Liam had about the same reaction as the rest of the pack when she pranced into English and handed Mr. S a pink cupcake. "Happy birthday!" she chirped, and twirled to her seat.

"You made Mr. S cupcakes for his birthday?" Mason hissed, incredulous.

"No," Sherry corrected airily, "I made cupcakes and it's also his birthday. Want one?"

Mason just stared at her. "There is something up with you and I'm not sure if I like it."

She turned around and nudged the box at Liam. "Do you want one?"

"Well, you didn't actually poison the cookie last time," he reasoned, and took a cupcake. He nibbled at it tentatively, froze, then stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. "It good," he said, his voice muffled by the cake.

Sherry turned back to Mason, smirking.

➵➵➵

At the start of lunch, Sherry linked arms with Liam and skipped down the hall. The boy's cheeks reddened as other students started to stare at the ecstatic girl next to him. With his dignity on the line, he hurried his steps to keep pace with Sherry and resolutely refused to skip, no matter how much Sherry cajoled him.

"We're gonna distribute the rest of the cupcakes," she informed him, and skipped out of the main school building, toward the stairs where Scott and Stiles sometimes hung out. They were there now, scribbling out homework amid bits of conversation.

"Hey, Stiles!" Sherry called, still as bright and fresh as dew.

He stumbled backward. "What happened to you?!"

She blinked. "I decided to climb out of my swamp of negativity for a day. Cupcake?"

"You never wear pink. What happened to your black, neutral colors, and more black?"

"Pink is my favorite color," she said. "Don't be so shocked that you don't know everything about me." She could feel the enthusiasm in her tone slipping. She'd meant to be happy today.

Stiles looked to Scott and Liam. "Are doppelgängers a thing? Is shapeshifting or cloning possible? I don't trust her."

"You never trust anyone," Scott pointed out.

"Stiles," Sherry stated, "If you want, I can go back to the usual sad, broody, closed-off me. The version of me I've been since my life turned into one big crisis. But I don't want to be that Sherry. I want to be happy sometimes; I want to be able to let go." Her voice wavered. She saw the immediate change in Stiles's expression. He looked guilty, like he pitied her. "Sorry," she murmured, setting the box down, and hurried away.

She was barely ten steps away when Liam caught up to her, carrying the box. "Sherr," he said, softly. "Don't let him get to you."

"It wasn't him. It was me. I'm so used to being unhappy that I can't even keep consistently happy, even when I try." She was at a side section of lawn now, the grass a signature California brown and in need of mowing. There were occasional patches of green spread randomly around. She sank to the ground, tugging at a blade. "Did you know that I used to be like this - like I was today up until now - all the time? I used to wear bright colors and skirts and dresses all the time. I baked cakes and cupcakes and cookies for my friends' birthdays and I had fun."

Liam sat too and pulled a handful of little purple-white clover flowers from the dying grass. He unsheathed his claws and began poking holes in the stems, threading flowers stems through stems. "You don't have to be one way or another," he said, reaching an arm around her. "Don't beat yourself up, Sherry. Let yourself be happy and forget what Stiles says. And, just saying, when you're happy, everyone else's happy." He continued making the flower chain, but with one arm stretched around Sherry, he could only reach so far, thus ending up having to scoot closer. The flowers were almost right in front of Sherry's face. "You lit up the whole room. I've never seen anyone else do that so fast."

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It's hard," she allowed. "I have to focus on every smile, every move. I used to be able to bounce around freely, but now I'm trying to fit into shoes I've grown out of. I'm not trying to be someone I'm not, but it certainly feels like it." She gazed up at him, but his eyes were focused on the clover flowers. "Right now I'm fighting the urge to retract, to move away from you as fast as I can. Hugs are forced and awkward for me, but no one can tell."

"I can," he said, surprising her. "Every few seconds you tense a little bit. If I wasn't a werewolf I wouldn't feel it. And before, if I touched you at all, any form of physical contact, you'd flinch."

She bit her tongue. She hadn't known he'd noticed.

"I bet it's like starting a new habit," he mused. "Weird at first, but eventually you'll adjust." He finished his flower chain and brought back his arm, scooting on the grass so that he was directly in front of Sherry. Following the motions of a coronation ceremony, he dramatically placed the flower crown on her head, adjusting it until it looked right, and let his hands fall. His fingers brushed over the strands of hair framing her face like a caress. Sherry stared at him, her body rigid from proximity. Then he tucked a few forefront locks behind her ear, echoing the movements of the love interest from every romance Sherry'd ever read.

"There," he grinned, standing up. "Now you both look like and act like a fairy. Your look is complete." He stood up and offered her a hand. "I think we have some cupcake-delivering to get to."

Her heart blossomed again. She beamed and kissed his cheek. "I think you're right, sir. Whence shall I find Hayden?"

➵➵➵

After school, she met her study buddy in the hall. "Theo!" she squealed, sprinting down the corridor. Before he had the chance to turn around, she leaped onto his back.

"Ow," he complained with a pout.

She giggled. "I thought you were supposed to be strong, with all your superpowers and working out and whatnot."

"Well, I wasn't expecting that!"

She pointed forward, like she was a knight and he was her mount. "To the library!"

"You're a brat," he said, and complied.

On the walk there, Sherry noticed several girls staring. They weren't the only ones, but they did have a certain look to them, and when they saw Sherry riding piggyback, their eyes narrowed.

"Theo," Sherry hissed into his ear, "I think you've got some admirers."

"I know," he answered. "I can smell emotions."

"How do I smell?"

"Like cupcakes, shampoo, nerves, and excitement. Your heart rate is exactly 89 beats per minute."

"Ooh," she said.

They met Scott at the library and studied for about an hour, during which Sherry learned that despite her notion about the alpha's perfection was quite ungrounded. Scott, she noticed, was not as smart as she'd thought. He had to take notes on the textbook, highlight it, and write out stacks of flashcards just to memorize the information. He was slow, but he was hardworking. Sherry'd always been in gifted and advanced programs, able to learn quickly and easily. Theo, it seemed, was the same. But Scott reached their level by persevering, and Sherry thought she couldn't have respected him more.

Scott left first, to go work the veterinary clinic. Deaton, who Sherry hadn't seen in months, was off on some secret business and hadn't been back for weeks.

After another hour, Theo reminded Sherry of her promise for a talk. She checked her phone and started at the time.

"Tomorrow?" she apologized. "I have to meet Kira in ten minutes!"

Theo made a puppy dog face. "Please? You said you would."

Something clicked in the back of her mind and she decided, "You're right, sorry. Let's talk."

Theo smiled, satisfied, and glanced at the librarian. "How about outside?"

So Sherry went with Theo for a walk, following as he went for the quiet trails of Beacon Hills Preserve that branched off from the edge of campus.

"Tell me about your parents," he said, and Sherry took a sharp intake of breath.

"What?"

"You live with Parrish, don't you?" Theo explained. "Something must have happened to your parents."

She really didn't want to talk about something quite so depressing again. "Theo-"

"Come on," he coaxed. "Tell me. It's fine."

She told him. She started with her mother's court hearings, then her father's murder, up until her visit to Mexico with Braeden. She wasn't sure why, but she told him everything. He just had something about him that made her trust him.

"Do you think your mother is guilty?" he said, catching her off guard.

She blinked. "Yes. Despite her motives, she did actually steal classified information."

"I don't think she's guilty," Theo said, and Sherry just stared, trying to comprehend. "Who's really at fault here? The mother who thought she was doing the right thing to protect innocent lives, including her daughter, or the sadistic hunting clan that exploited her goodwill?"

"Uh..."

"The thing is, Sherry," he continued, kicking aside a green fallen leaf, "That you let others do your thinking for you. I'm not trying to be mean, but just think about it. You know it's true. When your mother first got herself into trouble, you blamed the Calaveras. When the Calaveras gave you an alternate explanation, let you think your mother was to blame, you believed them. And now you're two inches away from believing what I just said solely because you trust me. Do you get it?"

"Yes," she whispered, feeling terrible about herself because she knew it was true. She could think of a thousand other examples of not thinking for herself right at that moment, and just wanted to go climb a tree and stay hidden in the leaves for a week or so.

Theo stopped, turning to face her with a look of complete solemnity and empathy. "Listen, you shouldn't trust what anyone says, not even me. Think about what you know, all the bare facts, and decide for yourself: Does your mother deserve to be imprisoned?"

She thought. Her mother had good intentions - that had been established. And all she'd done to be indicted was share the content of classified files. The effects? She'd gotten several werewolves and supernatural creatures killed. And Araya Calaveras had said she'd known - about the deaths, anyway.

What else did she know? Unfortunately, most of Sherry's information had come from Araya. Could she trust that what she'd said was true? For the time being, she had to.

"My mother betrayed secret information and knew she was getting people killed. She did it for the greater good and only turned herself in when her life, and I guess her family's, was at stake." So what was morally right or wrong? Sherry considered, and immediately thought of Scott. What would Scott do? He wouldn't kill, not even murderers, but he'd do anything to save innocent people. But Sherry's mother didn't have the same physical or moral advantages as Scott. So where did the line lay? "I want to believe she's innocent," Sherry said, finally. "But I really don't know."

"What if I told you we could get her out?" Theo said, his lips curling deviously. "It'll be sneaky, and illegal, and dangerous, but we can do it."

"Il- illegal?" Sherry squeaked. "Uh..."

"She's your mother," Theo reminded her. "Wouldn't you do anything to save her?"

"Yes, but-"

"I promise I won't let it go bad," he said. "What do you say?"

She didn't know why he was doing this. Why he was so passionate about her mother's innocence. If it were anyone else, she would have wondered that the catch was, what Theo was getting out of it. But she didn't, because it was absolutely irrational to even suggest. Theo wasn't like that. She could trust him.

But too often trust is placed in facades.


	25. Intentions

_↣And so lying underneath those stormy skies↢_   
_↣She'd say, "Oh, I know the sun must set to rise"↢_   
_↣This could be paradise↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 25** **➵** **Intentions**

* * *

Something was up with Parrish. More up than usual, that is. In fact, it was so far up that not only had he cleaned the front entryway, but he had even swept the stairs, and for the first time in months had ordered Sherry to clean, vacuum and dust her room upstairs. Even the chimney and roof had been awarded their first wipes in decades.

When she asked him what for, he only shook his head and shoved Windex at her.

Less than ten minutes later that Tuesday morning, when she saw Liam's dirty brown hair, she imagined dragging him like a statue into her house and watching as Parrish obliviously dumped Goo-Gone on his shoulders and polished him with wood finish. She couldn't help but laugh, which immediately drew the boy's attention.

Liam frowned at her from across the parking lot, and jogged toward her. "What's funny?" he asked.

His hair was dirtier close up, with little dandruff flakes and greased with sweat. "Just imagining how my uncle would react to you," she said, which made no sense to him.

His blue eyes stared at her for a moment. "Anyway, I see you're still in a good mood."

"I am!" she agreed, grinning. She'd put on lip gloss today, just because she'd felt like it, and had plaited a waterfall braid around the sides of her head. Her brown hair was soft and thick, and still pink at the ends, and she'd probably spent a good half hour this morning flitting about the mirror pinning each strand in place and snapping selfies she'd never post. "Today's gonna be a good day!"

Liam winced. "Don't jinx it!"

But she was right. She managed to get all her teachers to smile at her, including generally unimpressed Ms. Finch and Mr. Yukimura, who wasn't even  _her_  teacher.

Mr. Yukimura had stopped her in the hall to comment on her sudden change in attitude. "Success is 90% mental and 10% physical," he said, then invited her over for dinner again. "My wife is making sushi!"

At lunch, she managed to cajole Stiles into driving her over to Orange Tree for a carton of frozen yogurt, although he was still as gloomy as he'd been the past few days. When Sherry tried to buy him froyo as well, his eyes flashed with an unmistakeable look of guilt, and he turned her down without hesitation.

Still, that hardly dampened her day. She played Biology Trivia (a game she'd invented on the spot) with Theo and Scott, and tried to teach Hayden how to be a cheerleader.

The latter was a unique experience, and Sherry wasn't sure when she'd ever laughed harder.

The girls met on the grass after Hayden's soccer practice, when Hayden's white knee socks were specked with green and her ponytail was a messy, shark-finned knot. Sherry, almost as if she'd prepared for the occasion, had on loose black shorts and a faded red tank with the slogan "Other athletes lift weights. Cheerleaders lift athletes."

She recruited two other girls as well. Sherry didn't know them, but they were nice enough and Hayden knew them from soccer, so Sherry enthusiastically welcomed them. Amy was a tall Chinese girl with highlighted wavy hair, and her round face grew dimples whenever she spoke. Logan was a blonde, athletically built and quietly regal. Sherry could imagine her strutting down the runway of a plus-sized fashion show. Inwardly, she wondered why all the girls in Beacon Hills were so pretty, and felt a pang she forced herself to ignore.

She arranged the three girls into a stunt group, with Hayden and Logan as side bases and Amy as the back. Painstakingly, Sherry led them in a crash course of stunt etiquette, and immediately had them try to lift her up to a half. In the first trial, Amy heard a squeak as her hand moved against the dewy underside of Sherry's sneaker, and squealed, dropping her flyer. Trial two, Hayden nearly catapulted Sherry over the other girls' heads, and Sherry fell with an undignified "Oomph" onto the dirt. Trial three, they did pretty well, until Logan sneezed and Amy jumped and tripped and everyone fell into a giggling heap. Hayden lay on the ground a little too long, a dazed expression on her face, until Sherry peered at her in concern.

"You okay?" she worried, and then Hayden grinned and tackled her. Once they were both coated in shredded grass, Hayden whispered into Sherry's ear: "Syke."

After that, the girls exchanged numbers and Sherry went to Liam's house to play video games with him and Mason. That was fun, although Mason kept losing because he was too busy either snickering at them or teasing Liam with cheesy double-entendres. Sherry knew what he was doing, but unfortunately Liam didn't.

Then Sherry went off again to Kira's home, which smelled inside of savory soup and incense. As Mrs. Yukimura ordered her husband around the kitchen, Kira grabbed Sherry's arm and dragged her into her bedroom.

"Listen," Kira hissed, all serious, "Don't let my parents hear this, but..." She bit her lip. "I have no idea what's going on in Bio."

"You should join our study group," Sherry suggested. "And it's okay if you don't know what's going on. Bio's mostly memorization, so you can catch up at any time and you won't be that far behind. It's not like chem or physics in that it's not as cumulative."

Kira nodded slowly, her eyes wide. "Okay... but that doesn't change the fact that I am still drowning in the first week's lessons."

Sherry smiled supportively. "I gotchu." She pulled a stack of flashcards from her backpack and shuffled them. "Let me introduce: So You Think You Can Biology."

"That's a thing?"

"It is now! Here are the rules." She explained that each card was a prompt, and players had to spurt out as much information as they could about their cards within thirty seconds. Each bit information was a point, and the player with the most points won.

Kira was a bit apprehensive at first, but once they got going, they were almost reluctant to finally go eat dinner.

When Sherry finally went home, she was so worn out she nearly fell asleep on the doorstep. How many exciting things she did in a day, she realized, depended not on the day, but on the effort she put into it. This was a profound philosophy she'd discovered, but of course she forgot it all the moment her head hit the pillow.

Life was good. She was happy, her friends were happy, and the weather was nice. And then it was Thursday, and she started to notice that like the green leaves of summer, the good things in life began to wither.

Wednesday night, she noticed in the house a sort of pervading smell of perfume and sweat. The perfume was familiar, so regular to Sherry's senses that she almost didn't notice it floating in the air. The furniture in the living room had been cleared to the side as well, but Sherry was again to weary to care.

**➵➵➵**

In the morning, on Thursday, she felt as invigorated as ever, and flounced into school with a smile etched onto her face. After school, she saw Scott and Theo together, walking about the front lawn and surveying the students around them like lords gazing over their kingdoms.

"So," Theo was saying, "Basically, we're looking for abnormal behavior?"

"Anyone acting a little off or a little weird," Scott affirmed.

Theo looked pointedly at Sherry. "Isn't everyone a little weird in high school?"

"Yeah, good point," Scott said obliviously, while at the same time Sherry blurted, "I'm not acting  _weird_!"

"I didn't say that," Theo retorted.

"Yeah, but you implied it."

Theo grinned. "Anyway, you're made of too much fluff to be a murderous chimera."

Scott chuckled at that, then pulled out an old, tattered book from his backpack. It had a frayed cover illustrated with primary colors, looking like a retired thriller novel from the eighties.

Raising an eyebrow, Theo remarked, "You remember Tracy went on a killing spree after reading that?"

"You think it's a bad idea?"

"I think Malia almost getting run down by a car could've been bad."

Sherry blinked. "Huh?" It was slightly frustrating to know that even after all they'd been through, the pack still didn't bother to keep her in the loop.

"You don't know?" Theo said, voicing her concerns. "I thought someone would've told you by now."

Hastily, Scott gave a brief summary of recent events. "We found this book —  _The Dread Doctors_ — and we realized it was written by Dr. Valack. You've never met him, but he's a dangerous doctor with a third eye." He continued to explain, recounting the events of the momentous night she'd missed. That day, Sherry had been studying with Theo, but even he had some share of the fun when he went driving with Malia and she'd had a vision.

"Well," continued Theo, "That's why you guys haven't finished it, right?"

"We're going to," Scott answered confidently.

"Scott, I came here hoping to find a pack." He shook his head. "I wasn't planning on watching one fall apart."

"The book's all we've got."

"Then I'll read it too." Theo glanced at Sherry, who puffed up her chest.

"Me too."

"You sure?"

The concern in his voice ground at her patience. She'd been treated like a child enough. "Yes. I am."

"We're meeting at my place at seven," Scott went on. "Kira and I made enough copies for everyone."

"Until then," said Theo to Sherry, "We should hang out. I'll give you a ride."

By now, Sherry understood that "hang out," in Theo's terms, meant "have a meaningful conversation." But she didn't need a ride. She'd learned her lesson from the last time she'd been stranded. She wasn't going to leave her bike at school. "O-okay," she acquiesced. "I can transport myself, though."

Scott left, and Sherry went to retrieve her bicycle from the bike racks. Her phone buzzed, and from a distance she heard Theo revving up his motorcycle. "Meet at your house," Theo's text said.

Knowing she couldn't argue now, lest Theo crash from texting and driving, Sherry huffed and pedaled home.

He was there when she arrived, an extra helmet tucked under his arm. "You might want to put on jeans," he said, nodding at her short shorts. "Safety reasons. In case we crash and you scrape up your legs."

She pursed her lips. "If we crash, I'll have more to worry about than scraped legs. And I'll blame you." But she went inside to change anyway, because he wasn't right on at least some level, and she knew her mother would have chastised her for not wearing enough in the desolately frigid evenings of California summer.

So she hopped onto Theo's motorcycle five minutes later in skinny jeans and a jacket, and let him drive off.

Stiles, at this point, would have yelled at her with flailing arms. He still didn't trust Theo one bit, and continued to insist that something was off about him, something sinister. Sherry knew better, though, and trusted her friend not to cturn out to be some crazy psychopathic murderer. That was silly even to imagine.

He parked at a Starbucks, a rather surprising location that was both very Theo and very un-werewolf-like. Inside, he secured the two leather armchairs for them and ordered them both Frappuccinos.

"We have to talk about your mother," Theo said right off the bat. "I've been thinking, and I just can't accept the idea of leaving an innocent woman imprisoned for life."

"That's great," Sherry said, "But what can we do about it? There's literally no way she can defend herself. She pleaded guilty!" The sweet coffee in her mouth turned bitter, and she pushed the cup away. She hated talking about sad things that couldn't be fixed.

"That's where you're wrong." He smiled. "I have a philosophy, and it's called 'what if.' Think, what if you could do it? What if you did? Imagine you already did it, and then think back to  _how_. Backtrack, and you'll start to notice the little loopholes that you can wiggle through. Nothing's impossible, Sherry. You just gotta figure out how."

She did not like this plan. She felt like she was doing something illegal just thinking about it. Then she felt guilty, for not wanting to save her mother. Sighing, Sherry asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Promise not to tell anyone first."

Her stomach churned, and she remembered Stiles' wariness. "Fine."

"This might get dangerous. Very dangerous."

The Stiles in her mind flipped out. "It's worth it." She glanced at his expression. "I think."

"Alright!" he grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Pack your bags, because on Saturday, we're going to Mexico!"

 


	26. Implications

_↣Come out upon my seas↢_   
_↣Cursed missed opportunities↢_   
_↣Am I a part of the cure?↢_   
_↣Or am I part of the disease?↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 26** **➵** **Implications**

* * *

 

She and Theo met the rest of the pack (excluding Liam and Mason) at Scott's house at seven o'clock sharp. Everyone else was already there, leafing through the pages of the photocopied book.

"My mom's book club usually has more wine," Lydia said, twirling a strand of orange hair around her index finger. She pursed her lips, scanning the room around her.

"Well," retorted Stiles, "They also probably didn't read books that cause violent hallucinations."

"That's why Malia's here," Scott said.

"So none of us go running into traffic?"

Scott stared down at the cover. "Or worse."

"Like what happened to Judy," Malia blurted. "Chapter 14."

Lydia observed them, a cynical expression on her face. She wasn't wearing as much makeup as usual, Sherry noticed. The stress must finally have been getting to her. She picked up the book from the coffee table between the sofas, passing her thumb lightly over the worn surface. "Maybe I should have my mother read it," she said sarcastically. "She might remember a girl with a tail leaping off the ceiling and attacking everyone."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, "If it works."

"It has to."

Scott blinked. "What's that mean?"

"I think I saw them during my surgery. When I look at the cover of the book It's almost like-"

"A memory trying to surface," Scott finished. "Yeah."

"Isn't that what Valack wanted when he wrote it?" Kira wondered.

"If they did something to me," Lydia said decidedly, "I want to know what it is."

Everyone agreed, either out of curiosity or duty. Sherry, herself, was apprehensive. If she'd forgotten something that was dreadful, terrifying, or scarring, she honestly didn't want to remember. But she picked up a copy just the same, and went to perch on an arm of Lydia's claimed armchair. Lydia didn't react except with a tiny pull at the corner of her lips.

She read, and for a while wasn't quite sure what she was reading. The story was boring, if anything, and was filled with unnecessary extra details that seemed completely irrelevant. Her eyes began drooping not even a chapter in.

Half an hour in, Scott spoke up. "Anyone feel anything yet?"

Kira shook her head. "Tired."

"Hungry," Lydia added.

Theo stared. "I think he meant the book."

Lydia rolled her eyes, sighed, and went back to reading.

In the kitchen, Malia and Stiles began to talk as the werecoyote poured black coffee into cups. Smart. Sherry couldn't hear what they were saying, but Theo seemed to as he discreetly turned to look at them.

At the longer couch, Kira sighed, leaning over into the cushions to nap.

Scott frowned. "You're not giving up, are you?"

"Just resting my eyes," she muttered, pulling on the lamp string to darken her corner of the room.

An hour more of reading, and Sherry fell asleep too.

**➵➵➵**

At midnight, rustling came from the house — the sound of socks moving lightly over old floorboards. Someone was moving about, and Sherry's skin prickled as she drifted awake enough to crack open her eyes. It was a boy, moving up the stairs. She thought she could barely make out the shape of Theo.

Groaning, she rubbed her sleep-crusted eyes, a side effect of sleeping with contacts on. She shivered, glad she'd changed earlier, and realized that she'd been moved from the arm of Lydia's chair to the seat where Kira had been. Kira was nowhere to be seen. On the floor, Stiles snored loudly.

Sherry painfully pushed herself up from the couch, rubbing her sleeves to keep from freezing. It felt like the heater in Scott's house was either off or not working. Was he facing financial issues or had he just forgotten to turn it on?

Theo came down then, and immediately noticed Sherry moving. He froze. "What are you doing up?"

She yawned. "You woke me up. You leaving?"

Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his neck. "I was planning to, yeah."

"You're my ride," she accused.

He smiled good-naturedly. "I forgot. Let's go."

Stretching out her limbs, she gathered up her stuff and followed him out the door, feeling very much like a zombie. "Do you know where Kira went?"

"I think she's upstairs," he said, shrugging. He tossed her a helmet, which she was too tired to grab. It bounced off her belly and rolled onto the grass, where she hefted it up and onto her head in snail-like movements.

"Oh," she said. She didn't ask, but she figured he'd passed by Kira on his way to a bathroom. It seemed the obvious explanation.

Theo dropped her off at home, where Parrish lay in front of the TV, perusing news channels and late night talk shows. Struck by a sudden panic, Sherry checked her phone again, worried that Parrish had called her wondering where she was and was still awake just to wait for her to get home. But she had no notifications, and when she greeted her uncle from the door, he called "Hello" with a lazy, benign wave.

She deflated. So he hadn't been worried sick about her, like her parents would have been. It was a little confidence-boosting, but she couldn't help but feel a little unwanted.

"You weren't wondering where I was? It's past midnight."

Parrish shrugged, turning around on the cushion to face her with a smile. "I trust you. You're mature enough to make your own decisions, and with all that's going on, I can't really be expected to treat you like a child."

"Oh." That was... reassuring. But still. "I'd worry about you, if you were gone a long time."

He chuckled, patting the sofa. "I'm watching David Letterman."

Shaking her head, she apologized, "Sorry, Jordan. I have school tomorrow. And don't you have a job?"

"Can't survive my job if I don't lighten up a little sometimes."

**➵➵➵**

The double doors flew open, and in walked the coolest kids of Beacon Hills High. On any other occasion, Sherry would have been proud to be included as part of that group, but today she was too engrossed in conversation to notice the lingering eyes of jealous classmates as she walked amid Scott McCall, Kira Yukimura, and Stiles Stilinski.

"What if we need some kind of trigger?" Scott theorized. "Wasn't Malia driving when she remembered the crash?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, "But how are we supposed to trigger a memory that we don't remember?"

"Maybe it's a delayed thing. Maybe you have to wait a couple of hours to see what happens."

The hall lights flickered. The group stopped mid-stride, peering curiously up at the fluorescent bulbs. No one else around them seemed to notice.

Kira gulped. "That wasn't me. I swear."

"We'll keep an eye on each other today, okay?" Scott ordered.

"Yes, and keep an eye out for eight other potentially homicidal Chimeras," Stiles griped.

"And keep an eye out for the Dread Doctors," Kira sighed.

Stiles split off from the rest of them, going to his own class. "Starting to see the appeal of a third eye."

"So while introducing the African Cane Toad  _sounded_  like a good way to deal with Australia's infestation of the Grey-backed beetle," Ms. Finch lectured, "Unfortunately, the toad also decided to eat everything else in sight." She gazed around the classroom, like her stare was deadly enough to prove an example. "And everything," she continued, "That tried to eat the toad, from crocodiles to household pets, quickly died from the poison they secreted. A perfect example of an invasive species." She paused again, for dramatic effect. "102 toads introduced in 1935 became 1.25 billion by 2010. Once an invasive species is introduced, everything changes."

Sydney leapt from her seat with a scrape of chair-on-linoleum, pushing a slip of paper onto the teacher's desk. Ms. Finch gave it a cursory glance, then nodded. "Wise decision, Sydney."

Sydney fled from the classroom, immediately followed by Lydia.

"Lydia, you know it's for the best," Ms. Finch warned.

For a tense second, Lydia glared at her, then left the room. Sherry looked to Theo, Scott, and Kira to see if they knew what was going on, but they only shrugged.

Not even five minutes later, Scott and Theo bristled together, exchanging a glance to check if they'd both heard the same thing. They pushed themselves out of their chairs together, swinging their backpacks off their backs as they hastily excused themselves from class.

Sherry scrabbled to do the same, but the moment she and Kira stood up, Ms. Finch glared at them. "I can't have more than four students out of class at the same time, girls. They're already pushing it."

Kira hesitated and Sherry watched intently to see what she would do. Slowly and reluctantly, Kira sat down. Sherry, with a sigh, did the same.

During free period, Sherry went to meet with Mason out on the bleachers overlooking the practice fields. He wasn't there yet, so she pulled out her copy of  _The Dread Doctors_  to continue reading. The book was fairly short, so much so that she was just about be finished with the penultimate chapter. Then the bleachers creaked with weight, and Sherry looked up to see Brett Talbot, not Mason, sit down next to her.

"Mason said to meet him here," Brett said casually, smiling at her with bright green eyes.

"Yeah," she heard herself saying. "You don't even go here."

He smirked. "You're right; I don't." He plucked at his polo shirt. "I go to Devenford Prep. Our buddy Liam's old school." Brett pointed across the field, at a lacrosse player catapulting a ball into a net. "And there he is! He's pretty good." He laughed. "But he can't beat me, not even with his new wolfiness."

Nearby Liam, a girl with dark brown curls jogged onto the grass with a maroon tank top and a soccer ball rolling just ahead of her feet. Hayden smirked at Liam, then quickly punted the ball to the other end of the field. Liam, not one to back down from the challenge, tried to one-up her with a shot from his lacrosse stick. Sherry didn't quite know what to think. This was the first friendly interaction she'd seen between them ever.

"Aren't you dating Liam?" Brett suddenly asked, startling her.

Luckily, she didn't get much chance to answer before Mason plopped on the other side of Brett. "Hey Brett," Mason said, "Sorry I'm late. Have you noticed any of your classmates acting weird? Abnormally?"

Brett, with an amused glance at Sherry, answered, "I don't know, dude. Everyone at Devenford's pretty abnormal to me."

"Alright," Mason nodded, thinking.

"What else is there to look for?"

He knit his brows together, thinking. "There's heightened strength, smell, hearing, speed..." He trailed off, realizing those all defined werewolves. "Uh, able to see in the dark. Glowing eyes; eyes that reflect the light."

"Visible scorpion stingers protruding out of limbs?"

"Yeah. Or three foot lizard tails."

Brett nodded. "If I notice anything, I'll tell you. Anyway..." He pointed back in the direction Sherry had been staring. "What's up with those two?"

Mason winced. "Sixth grade. That wasn't the best year for Liam's anger management issues. There was a... this fight in the hallways." Sherry perked up, her ears new to this story. "Liam and this other guy. Hayden sort of accidentally walked into it."

Mason pulled out his phone, flicking through apps and pictures. "And this is her yearbook photo."

Sherry's eyes widened and Brett chuckled. "Ah, damn."

Young Hayden, still recognizable at eleven years old, had a black eye and a murderous expression. Not that different from the look she constantly threw at Liam nowadays.

"Yeah," Mason agreed. "Ow."

"What did she do to  _him_?"

Mason pulled up another picture, of tiny Liam who looked like a classic juvenile delinquent. He had two black eyes, laughably worse than Hayden.

Brett chortled, and Mason joined in. Sherry, however, felt bad for both of them... and began to imagine a common romantic trope: rivals turned lovers. And as she stared back out at the field, the possibility didn't seem too far away.

It wasn't that she was jealous; in fact, far from it. But she'd seen this story play out before, time and time again. Hayden was her friend, and Sherry would never dream of setting up preventive measures. She just hoped that her worries were unfounded, and that soon the plausible romantic air between herself and Liam would evolve into an actual  _relationship_  — but still, there seemed to be something nagging at her mind, making her feel that today was the day things would finally start going wrong.

At that moment, some students came running into the field, shouting, "Does anyone have asthma? Anyone have an inhaler?"

She saw Liam bolt into action, running back the way the students had come. Sherry jumped up, tugging at Mason. "Scott!"

She ran, and made it to the AP Bio classroom not long after Liam had arrived. Scott leaned against a desk, his legs sprawled out on the floor. Ms. Finch stood by her desk, her hands clutched in worry.

"What happened?" Sherry exclaimed, avoiding the urge to attend to Scott as well. Liam was already there with the inhaler, and a crowd wouldn't help.

Ms. Finch rubbed her thumb in circles on the back of her other hand. "I'm not sure. He started to have trouble breathing out of nowhere."

_Out of nowhere_  was up for debate, but Sherry kept that to herself. It was more than likely that this was the effect of the book they'd all been anxious for. Werewolves didn't get asthma attacks, Sherry knew. Something had to be interfering with Scott's basic chemical makeup.

**➵➵➵**

She walked with Liam out to the parking lot, reviewing verbally the murky details of the day as they traversed the lively outdoor hall. To their right, the stucco walls were plastered with chatting teens and bright, painted posters advertising the upcoming school events. To the left, clipped bushes and miniature trees were illuminated by the white afternoon sun. The leaves whispered in the summer breeze.

"And  _something_  is going on with Kira," Sherry continued. She broke off, frowning, when she realized Liam was no longer listening. He had narrowed his eyes, an intent look on his face that showed he was eavesdropping on someone else's conversation. And as Sherry followed his line of sight, she saw whose.

Hayden and Deputy Sheriff Clark were talking together, several paces ahead of them. Sherry couldn't hear what they were saying, but judging by the enraptured attention of Liam, he could. She shoved her hands in her pocket, switching between watching them and trying to judge what was going on by studying Liam's face carefully. She didn't speak until Hayden and Clark had rounded the corner, and Liam had stopped in his tracks, a seeming revelation having struck him over the head.

"What were they talking about?" Sherry finally said. She hoped she wouldn't have to repeat herself.

"Her medicine," Liam replied, still glued to the spot. "Hayden works so her sister doesn't have to pay for all of her medication."

"Clark... is Hayden's sister?"

Liam nodded vaguely. "I've been trying to pay her back for all the drinks I spilled the other day, at Sinema. I didn't realize why it was so important to her."

"I'll help you," Sherry offered. "I can get some cash for you... her..." She shook her head. "You know what I mean."

Liam, at last, broke out of his stupor. "No! You don't have to! I owe her. You weren't involved."

"No, it's okay," Sherry insisted. Then, before she realized what she was saying, "That's what friends are for!"

Liam blinked, tearing his gaze away so quickly Sherry questioned whether he had even been looking at her to begin with. "Oh. Right."

**➵➵➵**

Back inside the main education building, Sherry stopped by the library to return a few books. She'd checked out a few biographies two weeks ago, when she'd passed by the section and thought some titles seemed interesting. Of course, the problem with nonfiction was that she had no reason to keep on reading, especially when spoilers were a click away on Wikipedia. She stuck  _Born to Run: The Bruce Springsteen Story_ , _Malcolm X_ , and  _The Complete Works of Salvador Dali_ into the book return slot and turned around to leave. The library, one of her favorite places on campus, was full today, buzzing with discreet conversations and pencils scratching.

About a week ago, there'd been a prank call to the sheriff's station that had been traced back to the library. Parrish had been complaining about it afterwards, noting that teenagers these days hardly seemed to be considerate of law enforcement. He then admitted, with a sheepish grin, that that made him quite a hypocrite, considering his own misadventures before he'd gone to war.

After the prank call, the sheriff's department had noticed something off about the library, a mess of fallen metal rods that had to have been tampered with. Scott, at one point, had sniffed the air and noted that something smelled of blood beyond the patina of cleaning fluid.

Thinking back, that was the day that Donovan, the short-fused delinquent at the sheriff's station, had gone missing. And the next day, Stiles had started to be a little jittery. Then there was the trip to visit Dr. Valack that's no one had bothered to mention to Sherry. She shook herself, clearing her thoughts. So much had happened since the first day of school that it felt like almost a year had passed — but it hadn't even been a month.

Sherry closed the door to the library behind her just as the librarian began to announce the impending closing time, her lilting voice cut off mid-syllable. As the door clicked shut, the fluorescent lights above Sherry's head flickered for a moment. Then, along with the noise from the library, the lights died.

In the hall, the air was quiet except for the sound of clacking footsteps. She looked around in time to see Malia, rounding the corner with a frustrated look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Sherry questioned, running up to her tall friend.

Malia scowled. "My math teacher thinks I have to take  _remedial_  lessons. If I'm bad at math already, why does she think I want  _more_?"

"So you'll get better?"

The girl groaned, stuffing her phone into the deep pockets of her frayed denim shorts. "I'm not going to get into college anyway. I don't see the point."

"College may not be for everyone," Sherry allowed, "But don't give up before you've even tried."

From the other end of the hall, Scott and Theo appeared. They had that look about them that Sherry was all too used to by now. Something was wrong.

 


	27. Resurfacing

_↣Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young.↢_   
_↣How come I'm never able to identify where it's coming from?↢_   
_↣I'd make a candle out of it if I ever found it,↢_   
_↣Try to sell it, never sell out of it, I'd probably only sell one↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 27** **➵** **Resurfacing**

* * *

 

Scott was tense, worried. Sherry hated that look, not because of what it meant, but because of the stress it had to have on Scott. He was the sweetest kid she knew, and it hurt her to know that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn't deserve that kind of pain.

"Where's Kira?" Scott asked, alarm flashing in his brown eyes.

"Still at the library," Malia answered. Sherry tried to think back, not remembering seeing the girl during her brief pit stop. Did Kira know the library was about to close?

Continuing, Malia said, "Stiles and Lydia are at the hospital."

"Doing what?"

"Lydia's trying to figure out what happened to her during the surgery," she explained. She and the boys strode to the front double doors, and Sherry almost had to jog to keep up with their long legs.

"How long are they gonna be there?" Scott questioned.

"They said they're just waiting for the power to go back on." Malia's eyes flicked to Scott in concern, asking silently what was wrong. He just stared stonily ahead, his jaw tight with anticipation.

The four of them made it to the hospital in five minutes, with Sherry on Scott's motorcycle and Malia on Theo's. As they burst in through the hospital doors, the lobby felt as suffocating and swarming as always.

"You guys try to find Stiles and Lydia," Scott ordered, stepping into a dented elevator. He pushed a button, the doors sliding in front of him. "I'm gonna find my mom."

Malia nodded, stalking down the hall. "I'll get the lower floors," she called, although Sherry had the idea she was talking mostly to Theo. "You go up."

Theo headed off in the opposite direction, and Sherry, unsure what to do, stood in place for a moment, indecisively turning in half-circles.

The power shut off. Sherry jumped, panicked. If a chimera were responsible... she tried to think of movie and TV scenarios, wracking her brain for the most obvious place to look. Where would people not notice a wild chimera?

It clicked. Spinning, she raced to the stairs, knowing that the elevator would not work if it had no electricity to run on. She barely realized where she was headed until she realized that muscle memory had lead her to the far end of the hall, where a pair of rusty white doors hid the stairs from view. She pushed them open, not pausing to help the door gently close, like she usually did. They slammed closed behind her as she took the steps two at a time, rounding the corners innumerable times until finally, thighs aching, she stepped out onto the roof.

The sky was bright with light pollution, the moon waxing to an almost circle. The floor was concrete and grimy, reflecting an almost green sheen between the spatters of bird droppings. A big box was in the center of the roof, surrounded by a torn metal cage. The box's back doors were ripped off the hinges, and the mess of wires inside were mauled and sparking.

She noticed Stiles, standing as if in a trance in the middle of the roof. His face was blank, or maybe horrified; Sherry couldn't quite tell. He was muttering something too, something that sounded like "Mom." But his mother was dead, and there was no one else on the roof.

Except there was. A dark shape, previously hidden in the shadows, leapt out at Sherry. She almost screamed.

He had furious yellow irises, monstrous fanged teeth. His face contorted with energy, looking nothing short of deranged. She scrabbled for the stairs, her feet going nowhere on the slippery concrete.

She fell. Her knees banged hard on the floor, her hands sliding on the rough cement. Turning around to kick at her attacker, her vision blurred, and she now stared at the face of an angry woman, black perm framing her aging skin.

Mrs. Wang, the after-school program owner. A face Sherry had almost forgotten in the space of seven years.

"Are you," Mrs. Wang bit out, her voice shrill and condescending, "Going to apologize?"

Sherry shrank back. She was small, a skinny child, and she couldn't find the voice within her to speak up. Her eyes watered.

" _Xue Li_ ," Mrs. Wang chastised, using Sherry's Chinese name. She continued in Mandarin. "Didn't your mother teach you manners? Or have Americans failed at that as well?"

"I'm  _sorry_ ," Sherry choked out in Chinese, surprised she remembered her pronunciation. "I'm never going to do it again."

The woman's eyes flashed yellow, even if only for a second. Sherry's bottom lip trembled. She looked down at the ground, but her eyes caught on Mrs. Wang's fingers. She had claws that tapered to a point, the color of smoke-stained walls, or maybe yellowed bones.

When Mrs. Wang caught her staring, she cackled. "Or I could make sure." She raised her claws into the air, as if about to strike Sherry. She sliced down, and Sherry threw her arms up in defense, clenching her eyes shut.

"Stop!" The voice of her savior, in clear, plain English.

Sherry spun around, almost relieved to see her enraged mother standing at the door. Her blonde hair billowed around her face like a frame of a comic.

"I said you could teach her a lesson, not physically hurt her!"

"She stole from me. She's been stealing from me for weeks!" Mrs. Wang's veins popped. Sherry almost thought she saw fangs in the woman's mouth.

"I work for Araya Calaveras," Linda Ming threatened. Mrs. Wang narrowed her eyes. "If you don't want to be her next target, I suggest you leave my daughter alone."

"I will do what I want!" Mrs. Wang roared, and the blow came like a burst of pain to Sherry's cheek. Then there was another blow, and another, but now Sherry's vision blurred again, her nightmare replaced by her real-life chimera attacker.

Suddenly the weight was lifted from on top of her. Sherry was bruised, bleeding, and being lifted from the ground.

Theo looked down at her, his face a perfect mask of worry. "Are you okay?"

Her skin was screaming. It took all of her strength to blink the tears from her eyes. She hacked a cough. "I'm okay."

He set her down inside the stairwell and said, "I'll be right back, alright? Run!"

Then he set off to fight the chimera again, shutting the metal door behind him. It clanged shut, enshrouding Sherry in darkness and silence.

She groaned, unwilling to run back down the stairs while her body was still shrieking. She reached for the door handle, pulling it down with her scant strength, and stuck her foot in the opening. Through the small crack, she watched the rest of the action.

Theo threw the creature off of Stiles, who seemed to be suffering from a flashback of his own. Finally aware, Stiles scrambled to the side, watching as the chimera rammed into Theo.

Theo slashed out, raking his claws against the chimera's flank. He stumbled backwards, then growled, his werewolf face contorted and furious. He slammed his fist into the chimera, battering him until he fell onto the concrete. Theo stomped on the chimera's hand, slicing some more.

The chimera rolled to his feet, slashing at Theo. Then Theo sank his claws into the chimera's throat.

Blood spurted everywhere, coating Theo's hand. It shone in the moonlight, a sickly sort of glow.

Sherry's gulped, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Stiles stared, his eyes wide and terrified.

Theo stood still, unfazed. "Stiles," he said, "You can't say anything." His yellow eyes faded. "Please. Don't say anything."

Stiles breathed, in and out. "Why not?"

There was a pause, and Sherry was almost certain she wasn't meant to be seeing or hearing this.

"Because I never said anything about Donovan."

The look of shock on Stiles' face was priceless.

"I know what happened to Donovan," Theo said. "I know everything"

Stiles shook his head and barreled at Theo, slamming the werewolf into the metal cage. "You don't know anything!"

"I was there," Theo roared, slipping from the hold and slamming Stiles into the cage instead. "I was at the library! Malia found the book," he growled. She was texting us to see where you were. She said she left you at the library." His voice softened, and he let go of Stiles. "I told her I was close. When I got there, I heard the scaffolding come down."

"You saw him?"

"Just the body. I watched you come out. I was gonna say something, but then I saw the cop car. And the body was gone. I don't know who took him. I only saw what you saw, and I didn't say anything because you didn't."

Out in the distance, a siren wailed, shaking the boys from their reverie and Sherry from her frozen shock.

"That's not an ambulance, is it?" Theo griped.

"We should get out of here."

"We can't just leave him."

"Fine."

"All right," Theo nodded, rubbing his hands together. He probably meant to warm his hands, but in light of the events, the action looked sinister to Sherry's eyes. "Let's take him. Someone's stealing the bodies anyway, right? Here's our chance to find out who."

Stiles shook his head, his eyes pained and his expression uncertain.

"Stiles, come on. We gotta do something."

"You killed him."

"In self-defense," Theo tried. "He was going to kill you and me. If we stay, we're either going to have to tell the truth or we're going to need a pretty convincing story." His head tilted to one side, his hair still characteristically unruffled. "It's your choice. I'm not going to ask you to lie to your dad."

"Don't worry," Stiles sighed. "I've had plenty of practice."

He kneeled down to grab the dead chimera and Theo went to help.

Sherry pulled herself away from the door, straining as she closed it gently, extra careful not to make a sound. Then she scooted to a corner, leaning into it to pretend she'd fallen asleep. It didn't take much effort, and she nearly believed it herself. Everything hurt, and she thought that if she didn't get antiseptic on her scratches soon, she might get infected.

The door swung open, the hinges squealing. The light bathed the room, bringing Sherry into view.

"Sherry?" Stiles jumped, his face raw with panic.

She blinked slowly. "What happened?" She let her eyes drift, until they landed on the body between the two boys. "Is he dead?"

Theo's lips had a ghost of a smile. "We were fighting and he started spouting mercury. He was just a time bomb waiting to go off. I guess the Dread Doctors knew, because they got to him right after."

A lie.

She pretended to believe it. "Oh. Where are you taking him?"

"Deaton's," Theo said. "Can you stand?"

"It hurts," she said truthfully. "I wanted to make sure you guys would be okay."

"Well, we're fine," Stiles retorted. "Can you go check on Lydia?"

Sherry nodded, and waited until they left to ease herself slowly to her feet. Her mind was swimming. Stiles had killed Donovan? She wasn't sure of all the facts, but Theo made it out to sound terrible. And if it was pure self-defense... why had they kept the two deaths a secret? Something was going on, and Sherry just hoped it wasn't as bad as she thought. Until further notice, she decided, she would give them the benefit of the doubt, which was that they both just felt guilty, even though they had no reason to be.

By the time she made it down to the lobby, it seemed that everything had been wrapped up, so she washed her scratches up in the bathroom and trudged outside for the long walk to the school. There, she unlocked her bike and finally went home.

She dozed off not long after she stuck band-aids all over herself and bundled up in her bed.

**➵➵➵**  
The next day, a Saturday, she buckled down and got to exercising. For several hours, she ran through the trails of Beacon Hills Preserve, and had a solitary picnic under the cover of redwood sentinels. She didn't get wrapped up in any crises until after she went to a movie with Mason, when her phone buzzed with a text.

"Meet me at the school."

She saw the text from Scott the moment the movie ended and groaned. She had excused herself from Mason, about to leave, when the boy suddenly called out her name.

She turned around, blinking. "Huh?"

"I have a question," Mason said, wincing at how awkward he sounded. "This might sound weird, but are you and Liam a thing?"

She almost choked. "Why are you asking?"

He pulled at the hem of his t-shirt. "It's really complicated, um—"

"Does Liam think we are?"

"I... I don't think so, but, look, I think he—"

"Then we're not," Sherry said, feeling like she was drowning a bit. She wasn't bitter, or angry, or any kind of upset, even. She was more resigned, given in to the idea that Liam would never feel the same. It was unavoidable.

Mason pressed his lips together like he wanted to say something else. Then he just nodded, though he looked miserable. "Alright."  
 ****

**➵➵➵**

At home, she changed into a warm hoodie that would be soft against her not-yet-healed skin, and descended the stairs. That was when she heard a sound come from the garage. Parrish was there, stuffing tools and weird box things into his trunk. Lydia stood by him, adjusting the spikes that stuck out from the tops of the boxes.

"What are you doing?" Sherry said, her voice soft and tired. She had a feeling Lydia'd been here a while.

"Going to the school," Lydia replied. "We're going to trap the Dread Doctors."

"Oh." Sherry shoved her feet into a pair of Vans and let herself into the back of Parrish's car. "I'm coming too."

Parrish shrugged. "Let's go, then."

Lydia's lips parted in surprise. She must have been expecting Parrish to spout some excuse about safety, or homework, or bedtime. Her face hidden in the shadows of the car, Sherry half-smiled to herself.

**➵➵➵**

At the high school, Malia joined them to distribute the boxes — cell phone jammers, apparently — to places around the campus. "We're betting our lives on these?" she asked, unimpressed.

Lydia frowned, taking a box. "I think we're betting Hayden's life on them."

"Yeah, well," Parrish sighed, "I'm glad I brought my gun."

Sherry fidgeted. "Can someone explain to me what's going on?"

"Scott will tell you inside," Malia said, then shook her head. "Nevermind. Come with me." She grabbed Sherry's arm, not even waiting for her to move, and dragged the girl off to the side.

"Listen," Malia said seriously. Sherry thought she detected a hint of concern, which was odd, considering how little interaction the two of them had had. Sometimes, Sherry wondered if Malia even knew her name. "Before you go inside... I wanna make sure you're ready."

That was strange. "What could I possibly not be ready for?"

Her eyes flicking to the school anxiously, Malia said, "You'll know when you get there."

Sherry stared at her. And she'd thought her days of being kept in the dark were over.

"You reek of  _emotions_."

"What?"

"You shouldn't go inside," Malia decided abruptly.

"You want me to stand guard outside the whole night?" Sherry crossed her arms. "I still don't know what's going on."

"You should just go home."

"Scott told me to come."

This seemed to catch. Malia growled. "Hayden is a chimera," she exclaimed in irritation. "And the Dread Doctors want to kill her, so we're keeping her inside the school."

Hayden? But she was never involved! "I want to talk to her," Sherry pleaded.

"That's not a good idea."

Sherry's eyes widened. "Is she in the murderous phase?"

"Well, no—"

"Then why can't I?"

Malia was strained, glancing around like someone else could come and relieve her apparent burden. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Hurt?"

"You're already smelling mopey. I don't want the stench to be worse."

"Oh." Although, she still had no idea what that meant. "So I  _can_  go see Hayden?"

"Hayden," Malia muttered, " _and Liam_."


	28. Disintegration

_↣I used to rule the world↢_   
_↣Seas would rise when I gave the word↢_   
_↣Now in the morning I sleep alone↢_   
_↣Sweep the streets I used to own↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 28** **➵** **Disintegration**

* * *

 

Before she could go to see Hayden, though, she had to help with placing the jammers around the school. She picked up three boxes and wandered around campus, putting them in random places, like the top of a trophy cabinet, behind a compost bin, and on Mr. Yukimura's desk. Then she turned all of them on and, hopefully, created a barrier that would block out the supernatural frequencies of the Dread Doctors.

Everyone else was in the boys' locker room. As soon as Sherry entered, Scott pushed a set of lockers back into place in front of the door, a physical barricade to add to the invisible ones. Lydia waited by herself on one of the benches, leaning against the lockers with a thick, aged book in her hands.

"Where's Hayden?" Sherry asked.

Lydia looked up reluctantly. "By the sinks. Liam's comforting her."

"Is she okay?"

"Just a little shaken up," Lydia drawled. "It's a lot to absorb."

Sherry knew the feeling. "I'll wait, then," she said, because she knew she was no good at comforting. She sat down next to the redhead and sighed, blinking drowsily. Oh, how she just wanted to curl up and sleep.

Scott was a bit farther away, staring away, toward the sinks and stalls. The tips of his mouth drooped. He was a sad, exhausted puppy.

Sherry closed her eyes.

She opened them again, not sure how much time had passed. Scott was now standing, looking impatient. Lydia had her head in her hands, and had slouched over slightly so that Sherry was pressing slightly against her. By the supply closet, Hayden and Liam sat on the ground, leaning against the metal wall of the closet. Hayden was asleep, her head leaning into Liam's shoulder restlessly as though he were a pillow.

Hayden, who'd made sure it was known that she couldn't stand Liam. Hayden, who now had almost a trace of a peaceful smile on her face.

There was no thought in Sherry's head but a pronounced  _oh_. So that was what Malia meant. Still, Sherry wasn't upset. Enemies to friends to lovers — she had already seen it coming. That day out on the lacrosse field — only yesterday — she'd already known it.

Liam looked up, his blue eyes catching with Sherry's deep brown. She knew it was wishful thinking that made his expression look longing, or almost guilty. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Sherry smiled at him, as benignly as she could.

He tore his gaze away, instead staring at a black duffel bag that lay on the other end of the bench. Carefully, in an attempt not to wake Hayden, he slid out from under her head and went to investigate.

Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a shiny, clinking mass: yards and yards of chains. He turned from curious to petulant.

At the other side of the room, Scott and Lydia set their gazes on him defensively.

"What were you going to do with these?" Liam demanded, his eyes flashing.

"Brought them just in case," Scott explained wearily.

Hayden was awake now, watching them sleepily.

"In case of what?" Liam continued, still visibly upset.

"In case we had a chance to catch one of them," Lydia said.

"If we can't make the school a fortress," Scott said, moving closer, "then maybe we can make it a trap."

"If they're coming for her, doesn't that mean she's the bait?" Liam kept his voice even, but it was obvious he was outraged. Hayden just stared, probably too drowsy to sort out her confusion. Sherry wanted to calm Liam down. He was clearly overreacting, misreading the situation as a dishonest plot, but Sherry couldn't help but feel scared for Hayden as well. If even Scott wasn't certain the plan would succeed, then they were all doomed.

"Liam," Lydia tried again, standing up, "We brought her here to protect her."

"And now she's bait."

"Am I?" Hayden said.

"No." Scott said, "No one's bait. But we can't be bodyguards to everyone every night."

"Then why aren't we talking to Stiles' dad?" Liam pressed. "Why aren't we doing something better than hiding in a school?"

"Because we still don't know anything about them or what they want, okay?" Scott exploded. "They're winning and we don't even know what the game is."

Liam wasn't done yet. "What if they come in here and those things don't work?  _What if you have an asthma attack again? What are we gonna do?!_ "

"I don't know."

"This plan sucks!"

"You got a better one?" Scott was nearly bellowing now. "Kids are dying! And she's next! So, somebody has to do something. Somebody has to save everyone.  _So somebody's got to be the bait!_ " His chest heaved, his brown eyes incendiary.

For several moments, nobody moved. The tension saturated the air so thoroughly that Sherry was afraid something would burst if she moved. She'd always wondered what would happen when the stress made Scott snap.

She pushed herself up, slowly, and hugged Scott's arm like a child would cling to a parent. But she wasn't looking for protection; she wanted to protect him. He reached over with his other hand, probably assuming the former. He knew Sherry liked Liam; it was the obvious choice to think Sherry was heartbroken at Liam's newfound adoration for Hayden. But that would have been wrong. When someone's used to unrequited feelings, the next one doesn't sink in as deeply.

Finally, Liam spoke. "Scott," he said softly, his voice raw with desperation. "Promise me you'll do everything you can to save her." He stepped closer. "Scott. Promise."

He nodded. "I'll do everything I can. I promise."

A voice broke the moment, quick and urgent. "Guys," Hayden started, "I think I might need a little help right now. I forgot my pills." She pleaded with them with her eyes. "I have a bottle in my locker. I can get them, but—"

"I'll get them," Scott interrupted. "What's your combination?"

Relieved, Hayden tore a scrap of paper from inside her school backpack and scratched out a series of numbers on it.

Scott took it and headed for the door, moving the barricade aside. Lydia held the door for him and intoned, "Hurry." She shifted her weight, wary. "I'll keep watch."

"Hey, Lydia," Sherry called when Scott left, "Where did Malia and Parrish go?" She hadn't seen them since they'd split up outside.

"Malia's patrolling the halls," she said. "And Parrish is waiting outside, in his car."

"How will we know if they're not okay?"

Lydia set her jaw. "We won't."

**➵➵➵**

Ten minutes passed, and Scott wasn't back yet. Lydia, having waited by the door the whole time, decided to go after him. Sherry caught up with her, stepping in the hallway just before the locker room door shut.

"You should've stayed inside," Lydia warned, creeping carefully through the hallway.

"I don't know why people are always telling me that." If Scott had disappeared going off on his own, there was no way Sherry would let someone else make the same mistake. Anyway, she didn't want to be cooped up in that humid place with the other two.

"Scott?" Lydia called, her plaintive voice echoing off the walls and lockers and recently mopped floors. "Malia?"

Sherry stuck close to Lydia, hugging her arms around her chest nervously. "I think our plan failed."

"Not yet. We still have plan B." She peered into classrooms as they passed by, scanning for any sign of their friends.

Sherry's eyes flicked to the windows. "What's plan B?"

"We follow the Dread Doctors to their hideout."

"They got to Scott and Malia. I don't think we'll be functioning enough to tail them."

Lydia froze. "Do you hear that?"

Sherry stopped, too, and listened. There was a faint sound, now getting ever so louder, like a crank being turned faster. She was hearing a living glitch, a sound that caught and skipped like a scratched CD, that probably mirrored the motions of the creatures emitting it. It was the anthem of the Dread Doctors, the hunting call that made every hair on Sherry's body stand on end.

"Where are they coming from?" she whispered, paling.

"The front doors. Run!"

Sherry took off, but in a moment she realized that Lydia hadn't followed. She turned back, slowing, and saw the girl walking slowly in the other direction. "Lydia! What are you doing?!"

She didn't stop. "Slowing them down. Go."

Sherry bounced in her spot, torn. Then she ran, again, veering down the halls, back toward the locker room. Voices drifted from the other end of the hall. She couldn't recognize them at this distance, but they were human, so she sprinted toward them, skidding to a halt in front of the biology classroom.

"Sherry?" said Mason, who held a blood-dipped scalpel in his hand. By him stood Scott, who was frazzled but alive.

"Ohmygod, you're okay," she said, relieved. "The Dread Doctors are here. I think they have Malia, and they'll have Lydia soon."

"We need to get to Hayden," Scott decided. They hurried to the locker room, but the door was already open, the frame broken and hinges loose. Liam must've moved the lockers in front of the door, because the metal contraption had been pummeled and thrown aside. The room itself was silent except for the incessant dripping of one of the showers. Hayden and Liam were gone.

**➵➵➵**

She received a call from Mrs. Yukimura.

"Have you seen my daughter?"

Sherry glanced at Mason, who'd come home with her. "Mason, have you seen Kira today?"

He shook his head soundlessly.

"No," Sherry replied, cautiously. "Why?"

"I'm afraid the fox has taken over," Mrs. Yukimura said, and hung up.

Setting her phone down in confusion, Sherry ran a weary hand through her quickly dirtying hair. She retrieved two throw blankets from her room and flung one at Mason. They curled up on the couch together, exhausted, and stared at the local evening news. Sherry hugged her knees to her chest under the warmth of the blanket leaning her head on Mason. Every muscle in her body wanted to sleep, but her eyes remained wide open. She couldn't rest, not when lives were at stake.

"I hate that we can't help," Mason said, his eyes half-lidded. He smelled of soap and spices, his skin sticky and chilled.

"We can," Sherry disagreed. "I just don't know how, yet. Everyone seems to think that because we're mundane, not supernatural, that we're next to useless. But even Stiles is always in on the action."

"Stiles knows what he's doing. He has experience."

"Or maybe he knows what he wants. And he goes to get it. As fond as I am of him, he's not perfect. He's blinded by... something."

"He's in love with Lydia."

Sherry considered. Stiles never seemed like much of a fit for Malia, and the werecoyote seemed to be slowly distancing herself. "I guess. Anyway, no one's perfect." Her voice caught for a moment. "Not even Scott." Or Theo, though that seemed just as unlikely to her. "You have to learn that people aren't perfect, and holding them on a pedestal only lead to broken expectations and unfounded hope."

Mason shifted. "I think you're talking more to yourself than to me."

"I just..." she sighed. "High expectations are what cause crushes, you know. You get too caught up in an imagined persona of a person you don't really know. If I would follow my own advice, I wouldn't have problems like that."

"Like getting heartbroken over Liam."

She turned and buried her head in the armrest. "I expected that."

"Expecting something to happen doesn't make the pain go away. Sometimes it doesn't even make it hurt less."

"You're not allowed to be the wise one," she protested. "Makes me feel like a child."

There was silence for a while, or at least what felt like it amidst the gray murmur of the TV. Sherry's phone rang.

"Yes?"

"We found Kira. Not to worry."

"Oh."

"Good night," Mrs. Yukimura said, sounding motherly. The call ended.

To Mason, Sherry explained the call, then asked, "If an adult tells me not to worry, does that mean I should?"

He grimaced. "Let's call Scott."

She did. "Do you know where Kira is?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "She's at the station. But meet at my house in five, alright?"

Mason jumped up. "Let's go."

Yawning, she nodded. "'Kay. You can go. I'm going to visit Kira first."

He seemed uncertain, but he didn't argue. "Hurry."

**➵➵➵**

She got to the sheriff's station right as the Yukimuras were leaving. They all were surprised at her appearance, but Sherry didn't care. She ran to Kira with a hug.

The family looked troubled, but Mrs. Yukimura said, "I told you, you didn't have to worry."

"I know, but I just had to make sure. Did you tame the fox?"

Kira stared at her shoes. "Not exactly."

"Why... why were you at the station?"

"Someone was killed," Kira whispered. "And I think I did it."

That wasn't possible. Kira was the least murderous person ever. But to the contrary, Sherry thought back to the incident with Tracy and the brawl at Sinema. The fox spirit was evil, or at least unforgiving, and if Scott hadn't intervened, she would have killed at least two more times. Sherry shivered. "So what now?"

"I told Stilinski," Mr. Yukimura spoke up, "That I did it. Fortunately, he has enough sense not to press charges."

"Doesn't he have to? For murder?"

"He was threatening to," he said. "Melissa McCall helped us convince him not to."

Mrs. Yukimura shook her head, tsking. "He didn't say anything when his own son was possessed by a kitsune."

"My parents think we should leave Beacon Hills," Kira added, a pleading tone in her voice. "If I can't control myself, how can I prevent myself from hurting others?"

A memory flashed up, of Theo killing the chimera on the roof. He'd insinuated that Stiles had killed Donovan, too — was everyone hiding from murders they'd committed? Would Scott really be as upset about it as everyone seemed to think?

"When you come back, you'll be stronger, right?" Sherry asked.

"I hope."

She flung her arms around her friend again, a little bit of her heart cracking. "I'll miss you. Come back soon."

Kira squeezed her back. "Yeah. Don't forget me."

Sherry pulled away, forcing a laugh. "I hope you're kidding."

"I hope so too."

 


	29. Refocusing

_↣'Cause you had a bad day↢_   
_↣You're taking one down↢_   
_↣You sing a sad song just to turn it around↢_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 29** **➵** **Refocusing**

* * *

 

"What the hell did you do to me?!" was the first thing Sherry heard when she entered Scott's house. In the bedroom, an unfamiliar boy scrambled away from Scott, his eyes wide and hands groping for the safe firmness of the far wall.

"You'll be all right," Scott said, unconcerned with the boy's wellbeing.

"There's blood!"

He gritted his teeth. "You'll heal."

Lydia scolded, "Scott—"

"He'll be fine!" Scott exploded, scaring everyone in the room. "Listen! I think it worked. I saw something." His eyes flicked, conjuring up the memory he must have just stolen from the new boy. "There were tunnels," he said, grabbing a scrap of paper from the side and scribbling madly. "Pipes along the walls. There were these huge blue pipes at the entrance. Two on both sides."

Stiles nodded slowly, revelation written over his face. "Wait a second," he said, holding a hand up. "I know this. I've seen this before. That's one of the tunnels I used to skateboard in." He turned to Scott, eyes communicating a message. "Remember my dad caught me one time and told me to never go back?"

"It's the water treatment plant," Lydia said.

Scott refocused on everyone. "That's where they are. That's where we'll find Liam and Hayden."

Abruptly, Scott tugged on a jacket and barreled down the stairs. Sherry jumped out of the way to avoid getting trampled.

"Scott! Scott, slow down." Stiles reached out to him, carefully stepping around Sherry. "Just think for a second, okay? Mason shouldn't be going."

"Liam's my best friend," Mason argued. "I'm going."

Irritated, Stiles turned on the boy. "Oh, did you suddenly get super wolf powers? I wasn't aware of that development."

Scott stilled reluctantly, bouncing anxiously on his toes. "Well, if  _you're_  not going, I could use the help."

"No," Stiles replied. "I'm coming just as soon as I talk to my dad. They're moving the body and he wants to make sure that this time no one steals it."

"What body?" Sherry questioned. "The one supposedly left by Kira?"

The silence confirmed her suspicions, making her consciousness feel heavy.

"How's he gonna do that?" Malia continued, pretending she hadn't said anything.

"I don't know. But whoever took the last one was strong enough to flip my Jeep."

"We can bring Theo."

Everyone turned to stare at him. The boy backed up, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe I better stay here. You know, in case the Doctors decide to make a house call for Corey."

"Scott," Lydia interrupted, "Stiles is right. We need to slow down and think."

Scott's eyes flared. "I  _am_  thinking," he retorted. "About how Liam and Hayden could already be dead."

Lydia's expression plead with him. "You could've hurt him, Scott. Really hurt him."

Theo set a hand on Sherry's shoulders. "Don't scare her."

Offended, she quickly shook him off. "I am not a baby."

He gave her a look, as if reminding her of their earlier conversation about her gullibility. "You really are."

"She's not a child, okay?" Mason interjected. "You all should stop treating her like one."

"Thanks," she said, although his defense was almost ironic.

Scott tapped his phone, distracted. "I have to find Liam."

Mason nodded, and he and Malia turned to follow Scott out the door.

"Hey," Stiles blurted to Malia. "Text me. For anything."

"I got it."

"Anything at all," Stiles pressed. "Okay?"

She nodded tersely and shut the door. Lydia sighed, unhappy with the entire state of things.

"Alright," said Stiles, turning back to the four remaining. "I'm going to talk to my dad. If you get any new information, let me know." Then he, too, left.

Sherry looked to Lydia and Theo just as Corey did. He looked even more confused than she did, which she absentmindedly marked as an accomplishment. "What now?"

Lydia studied Corey, making him gulp. "We see if Corey can remember anything else."

"I can't," he said, blinking quickly.

"Don't say that until you've tried." She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the kitchen.

In a low voice, Theo said, "We'll leave as soon as we find them."

"Leave?"

"To Mexico. For your mom. Remember?"

"What if we don't find them?"

"Trust me." His eyes were wide, earnest. "We will."

In the kitchen, Corey's hands were clenched around a red apple, still unbitten and with the tiny sticker. Lydia stood over him, examining the spot on his neck where Scott's claws had dug in.

"It healed," he guessed. "Didn't it?"

"Yeah. Completely."

"Okay, then," he said, standing up. He let the apple roll over the table top. "It's been fun. Especially the part where a werewolf forced his way into my brain with his claws." His words were confident but he was not, his feeling betrayed by the tremor in his voice and the panicky way his eyes jumped like fleas around the room.

"I don't think leaving is such a good idea, Corey," Theo said. He sounded not unlike a kidnapper or a mafia boss. "You know, Lydia's a Banshee."

"It means she can tell when someone's close to death," Sherry explained in turn.

"Lydia, what happens if he walks out that door?"

She caught on a little late. "It's bad," she said in a voice that clearly meant she was fibbing. "Very bad."

Corey scoffed, still sounding terrified. "I'll take my chances."

"Then give us a better chance at finding our friends," Lydia said.

"What else did you see? Come on, Corey, there had to be something else."

He sighed. "There was the hospital. And they took me out of my room."

"And then where?"

"The tunnels." His arms were hugged around his front. "Like I already told you. That's it."

"Yeah. Nothing after that?"

"No."

Theo shook his head, still not satisfied. "Well, there has to be more. Think." He moved closer, setting an assertive hand on his shoulder. "Corey, for one minute, just think!"

"There was a basement," Corey allowed finally.

"Where? Like, in a building?"

"A house. It was old, covered in dust and there was a broken stone wall with a large hole in it. Like a bomb went off."

"Lydia," Theo realized. "The werewolf with the talons. The one who attacked Scott!"

"Didn't Parrish say that he smashed through the wall of a basement? Wasn't it something like that?"

"Parrish did what?" Sherry exclaimed.

"No," Theo said. "It was exactly that."

Before Sherry could even think to ask him what he was talking about, Theo was out of the house like an invisible wind.

Bewildered, she turned to Lydia. Lydia sighed. "We'll just have to wait until someone calls."

"But I want to help!"

"Don't you think I do, too? But until you think of something you can do, I suggest you go home."

Sherry gaped. "Why are you treating me like a baby, Lydia? I'm sure  _you_  were fighting monsters two years ago, when you were my age."

Corey edged back.

"Two years ago I was stupid and naive," Lydia said. "You're not any different." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "It doesn't matter anyway. Theo ran off and none of us here have useful skills. Don't you have things to do tomorrow?"

Begrudgingly, Sherry allowed herself to realize that Lydia was once again right. "If anything happens, let me know, okay?" she pleaded. "I just want Hayden and Liam to be alright."

Lydia nodded, face still sullen and solemn. "Me too."

**➵➵➵**  

Her house was empty and quiet at night, devoid of any life but the wilting lawn out front, dehydrated by the endless California drought. The tiles under her socked feet were frozen after she slipped off her sneakers, the temperature about ten degrees colder than the air outside. Parrish must have left the air conditioning on.

She pulled a tattered old JanSport from the hall closet, the navy blue faded to a greyish brown from years of use. Into it she stuffed anything she thought she might need in Mexico: a flashlight, batteries, matches, sunscreen, bug repellant. She even threw in deodorant and a bottle of bleach, just in case. In her upstairs room, she scavenged for clean jeans and a sturdy zip-up jacket. She stuffed in shorts and a tank, too, just in case Mexico got too hot. She grabbed money — she wasn't sure how much she'd need — and retrieved Braeden's handgun from her desk.

All she had to do now was wait. She settled into the sofa seat closest to the front door and pulled out her homework, scratching mindlessly at calculus problems while keeping an eye on her phone. No notifications yet.

She doodled "derivative" in loopy handwriting, decorating the lines. She checked again. Still no notifications. She sighed.

What felt like hours later, the garage door rumbled, and Parrish stepped into the house. He was tired, dark circles surfacing beneath his skin, and his sandy hair was stringy with perspiration. "Hey, Sherr," he said, and perused the refrigerator.

"Hey, Jordan." She watched him for a moment, wondering what kind of crime he handled today. Or what kind of paperwork. "If I wanted to protect myself from random supernatural creatures, what chemical warfare could I use?"

"Pepper spray comes to mind," he said, not even questioning why she would ask. "Maybe hydrochloric acid or furniture polish. Bleach. Liquid nitrogen? Or a Molotov cocktail."

"Do you have any of those?"

He nodded. "Check my glovebox or trunk. I might have something under the bathroom sink."

"Thanks, Jordan."

"No problem."

"I can stop by somewhere to get some other things, if you want," he offered. "How soon do you need them?"

"About now."

This, finally, got his attention. He paused midway through his bite of the leftover American Chinese food Sherry hated. It tasted nothing like the real, home style version to her. "Alright," he said, swallowing his noodles. "I'll need a little more coffee, but I get it for you."

"You're the best," she yawned. "I owe you."

Parrish twirled his car keys around his finger and headed back for the garage. "That's what family's for, Sherr. To guide you on the path to suicide."

The door slammed and she was alone once more. She rolled off the couch and picked herself up, heading out to search the house for some of the things he'd suggested. He returned half an hour later, his arms laden with jugs of clear liquid and metal vials of acid. They clattered on the kitchen counter as he let go.

"This one's hydrochloric acid," he said, pointing to one of them, and went on to name the rest. The last was what looked like a Gatorade water cooler, except that it was silver and vaguely threatening. "This is liquid nitrogen. You know how to handle it, right?"

She nodded. "I can't believe you trust me with all this."

"I'd better, or I'll be facing child endangerment laws. You're sensible."

"Thanks." She wondered whether he'd say the same thing about Scott, or about Lydia.

Parrish crumpled his Starbucks cup and dropped it in the trash bin. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if anything life-threatening happens."

She agreed and started placing her newly acquired chemicals in a suitcase until she heard the door slam. Then she plopped back onto the couch and searched up Molotov cocktail recipes on her phone.

Finally, the doorbell rang. Theo stood on the dirty doormat, grinning. "Liam and Hayden are safe for now."

"Oh, thank God," she breathed.

"Ready to go?"

"No. But when am I ever?"

**➵➵➵**  

The roads at night were something different altogether. The street lamps flickered, casting quick yellow dashes upon the midnight asphalt. She couldn't see clouds, or colors, or crops, but she didn't care. The drive was exhilarating, the frozen wind slapping her skin when she lowered the windows and the warm tickles of ventilated air pressing against her when she closed them. Theo sang loudly along to the classic rock songs blaring from the radio of his dad's car, belting misheard lyrics to pop songs whenever ads came on just for the fun of it. Sherry, who wasn't one to sing in public, just smiled blissfully at him. When her eyes closed and her neck cramped from her bad sleeping positions, her good mood still couldn't be defeated.

The dusty Toyota bumped over the empty expanses of road. They passed by quiet towns, stinky farms, and as the sun rose, the Mexican border. Getting past border patrol was easier than she'd anticipated, and soon the reliable old car puttered to a stop somewhere in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Deserts of golden sand and faded cacti unfolded around her, the sun's rays reflecting off the bits of broken glass scattered here and there on the ground. A town rose from the desert, shambled structures shedding their paint and whitewashed adobe edifices stood sturdily like sentinels. Life trickled through the marketplace and out the doors of bright restaurants.

"Follow me," Theo gestured. She did.

He lead her into the town, where margarita glasses seemed ubiquitous. Almost everyone walking about had alcohol on them, and the tantalizing smells of tortillas and spices wafted through the air. Through the town they went, until at last they arrived at an imposing building that seemed to have no windows whatsoever. Finally, Sherry realized where she was.

Tugging frantically at Theo's arm, she pleaded, "Can I stay outside? Please?"

"There's nothing to be scared of, Sherry."

Her stomach twisted. "But you  _know_. You know why I don't want to go in!"

"I'm here," he consoled. "I won't let anyone get to you. Not even the Calaveras."


	30. Perseverance

_↣We've gotta hold on ready or not↢_   
_↣You live for the fight when it's all that you've got↢_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 30** **➵** **Perseverance**

* * *

 

She eventually let him drag her in. She glued herself to his side, every limb shaking in dread. She didn't know why she was so terrified — it wasn't like the Calaveras had physically hurt her — at least not yet. But something about the thought of their proximity to her, their sheer capability to turn her life upside down sent cold tremors through her spine. She'd always said she wasn't a baby, but the patient way Theo rubbed circles on her shoulder and the desperate way she held on to it seemed to send all her previous words down the drain.

As they walked on through the nightmarish enclave, Sherry pressed so tightly into her friend that she thought she might be growing braver through osmosis.

The rounded a corner and Sherry saw a door, that made her head swim yet again. She knew what lay behind that door, yet her feet wouldn't stop walking. The door opened.

"Sherry!" said Araya Calaveras, the way the Big Bad Wolf might greet one of the Three Little Pigs. She turned. "Theo.  _¿Como estas?_ "

"What do you know about Linda Ming?" Theo demanded.

Araya's eyes lingered on Sherry. "Everything,  _mijo_. Is your little friend still not satisfied?"

"We want to make a deal," Theo continued. "Whatever it takes to get Sherry's mother out of prison."

"A deal? What could you possibly offer that I can't get myself?"

"The werejaguar."

Sherry choked. She'd only heard stories, what Scott and the others had bothered to tell her about Chris Argent's murderous sister. She'd set a whole house of werewolves on fire and set invincible undead warriors on Beacon Hills High. She'd been buried once, but that hadn't stopped her.

Araya looked equally as surprised. " _Kate Argent_? How do you expect to capture her when teams of more experienced hunters have failed?" It was more of a threat than a question. Are you insulting me? Are you simply off your rocker?

" _I_  know what I'm doing." Theo replied, a trace of cockiness in his voice. "Do we have a deal?"

She sniffed, suddenly disinterested. "Bring Miss Argent to me, alive or dead. Then I'll see what I can do."

**➵➵➵**

Theo had a plan. She was a little miffed that he hadn't bothered to inform her, but there was nothing much she could do now but follow his lead. Which, as it happened, meant another roadtrip deeper into Mexico, past expanses of green-speckled desert, into the cobwebbed halls of an abandoned temple.

It was hard to tell what deities had once been worshipped here. It didn't look old enough (or guarded enough) to be Aztec or Mayan, not new enough to be a church. She could see no crosses or mosaics, nothing telltale to distinguish this goldenrod building from the gray murmur of history. The entrance was boarded up, an angular arch several stories tall and glowing with dust. Theo, with a single kick, busted a hole in the barrier. Sand exploded around the entrance, clouding both Sherry's eyes and nose. She shielded her face, sneezing.

She couldn't see far into the building, only what was illuminated by the sun's rays. Theo gestured for her to enter first.

She ducked into the hole, feeling around for walls and hoping to God that her fingers wouldn't brush against webs or beetles. "What am I looking for?"

"Anything that might have been left by an angry werejaguar. Scratches, bones. Blood."

The passage's walls were rough on her fingertips. No blood yet, but there was a small crunch under one of her shoes that might have been a leaf or a shell, or maybe an ex-rodent. "Do werejaguars eat mice?"

"I'd think they eat burgers, actually," said Theo. "But they'll hunt practically anything."

"Oh." Sherry kept walking, stepping carefully. In the Indiana Jones movies, there were always surprise pits and booby traps everywhere. How would Harrison Ford hunt for a psychopathic shapeshifter? "Can you smell anything?"

His hand wrapped around her wrist. "This way."

Her toe hit something hard. Theo was still walking. Belatedly, she realized they'd just arrived at a set of stairs. Steadying her breath, she stepped up and tried not to misplace her feet. When she thought they'd reached the top, she ran into another step. So she kept going, her thighs starting to ache.

Finally, her eyes could see again. Spots of light sliced through the musty air, leaving long projections on the tiled floor, making her almost wish it was still dark. The image sent a tremor up her spine. The holes in the wall were left by claw marks and the floor was spattered with blood.

She squeaked. "Theo?"

Squatting, he dipped a finger into the darkened blood and sniffed it. "Human," he announced. "Or at least at the time of attack. Which was about, oh, a few hours ago."

"Are the marks from Kate Argent?"

He shook his head. "Too big. Probably her Berserkers."

Oh, yes. Kate's not-really-undead soldiers who wore skulls as masks and could take on even Scott McCall with a single blow.

"Um, Theo?" she said. "How are you planning on surviving them?"

"With cunning." He grinned. "How else?" Wiping his hands on his jeans, he stood up and crept cautiously into the next hall. It was dark again in there, but their footsteps echoed over the crumbling stone.

She ran into Theo's back. "Why'd you—?"

"Shh," he hissed. "Listen."

There was a thin patter of drips and drops from somewhere, but she couldn't exactly pinpoint it. "Where—?"

"Beneath us," he said. "We're standing over a hollow chamber. And given the state of the place, at any moment we could fall in."

"But can't you sense where a hole is? Hear where the sounds are unusually loud?"

"Not if the hole hasn't been created yet. Hold on to me."

She grabbed his arm, his right one, she was pretty sure. They stepped carefully over the stone tiles, the drips and pattering crescendoing the farther they went. Then they ran smack into a wall. Dead end.

There was a small brushing sound sweeping over the walls. Theo was feeling for an opening, testing for a corner. Carefully, she let go of her grip on him and did the same. She soon felt a corner, padded with webs, and nearly screamed at the revolting feel of it. Hastily, she wiped her hands on her clothes.

She kept searching. The wall was colder than the one at the entrance. It was pocked with holes and possibly dead insects, although she couldn't be certain and definitely didn't want to find out.

Finally, something felt different. It was a wooden board, still sturdy though dilapidated and thin. There were two nails stuck into either end, which she promptly pried off. Splinters pricked her skin.

As the wood clattered to the ground, she felt what she'd been unconsciously waiting for. A carving that felt like the outline of an animal.

"Theo, watch out," she said, and pressed the button.

She fell almost immediately. She could hear Theo biting in an angry sound, but what she was focusing on was the water, the  _dripdripdrip_  and the rushed  _sshhhh_  of a coursing stream.

Her toes felt wet, and then with a silencing splash, her whole body was. She scrabbled for air, gasping as she surfaced.

An orange light in a shade that would usually appear warm but now seemed as a warning filled the chamber, one torch at a time. Shadows flickered everywhere with the mood of the flames, sending her heart racing as she tried to focus on whatever might be important.

She felt the water rippling as Theo swam up from behind her. "Warn me next time?"

"I did. Just didn't know exactly what the button would do."

"You pressed a  _button_?!"

She opened her mouth, but shut it quickly when she saw the telltale flick of his eyes that meant he was hearing something. A faint clomping resounded from the other end of the path of torches. Footsteps, even and scraping, moved ever closer to their view. They faded.

Sherry exchanged a glance with Theo. "Where'd they go?"

She was answered with a deafening sucking and grinding sound, like a garbage disposal or draining bathtub.

"Get out," yelled Theo. She didn't need to be told twice. She paddled for the edge of the pool, lacking the ability to see underwater, but the unforgiving tide of the water made her change her mind. She exploded into full-out freestyle, gasping for ragged breaths between strokes. The concrete feel of the edge under her palms as her eyes clouded with water couldn't have come soon enough. She pushed herself over the edge, gulping in the dry air.

Theo barely made it. Heart thumping, she grabbed onto his arm and dragged him out. Wet and shivering, they both lay on the stone for several moments. The last of the water emptied down the drain.

"Thanks," Theo said. "Swimming, uh, doesn't really run in my family."

"All you have to do is practice," she said, and rummaged in her now soaked bag for her gun. She was lucky she'd thought to bring on of her many drawstring backpacks — any other bag might've fallen from her shoulders or spilled its contents. She hoped now that the firearm would still work despite being fully saturated with water.

"A gun won't work against the Berserkers," Theo said.

"Then what will?"

"Perseverance."

"That sounds like a weapon that ends in death," she replied.

They moved down the hall, their muscles coiled like springs. Her gun was clutched between her two hands. Probably useless against danger, but she'd feel even more helpless without it. As they reached the end and peered around the corridor, something pierced the wall behind them. It was white and jagged. It was a club, or a machete, and seemed to be carved from bone.

At the other end of the hall towered the most terrifying creatures Sherry had seen yet, which didn't really mean much. But as she set her eyes on them, her blood ran cold. They were giants in size, barbaric conglomerations of fur and bone and strength. She wanted to run and hide.

Still, Theo was undeterred. He strode forward, bellowing, "Kate! I know you're here!" He paused, letting his voice echo dramatically. "Cowardice doesn't look good on you."

No creature moved.

"Huh. Guess cats really are antisocial." In the blink of an eye, Theo lunged at the Berserkers. He was airborne for less than a second when a fist came out of nowhere, slapping him back against a wall with a sickening sound like a fly being squashed. Sherry held her gun. She wasn't willing to draw their unwanted attention.

Theo picked himself up, groaning and grinning all the way. "Thanks, boys," he said, strangely optimistic. Then he hurtled again. This time, as the claws reached up to swipe at him, he twisted out of the way. And again, and again, until the thundering beast was within feet of Sherry.

"Fire!"

She tried. The bullet bounced off the thing's skull mask, clattering harmlessly to the floor. "Uh?!"

Theo rammed into the Berserker from behind. " _Fire_!"

" _I'm trying_!"

A metal-firm arm blew into her stomach. The air was knocked out of her lungs, but she refused to give in. She hung on, the jagged bits of bone and claw piercing holes through her shirt.

"Point-blank!" yelled Theo.

The berserker threw her up and down. She thought she might puke, not of motion sickness, but of the imminent danger of being thrown off and — crack — there would go her skull. She lifted her hand as close as it would go to the thing's head and  _bang!_  But there was only a dent and she found herself slamming on the floor.

The other Berserkers moved, feet dragging zombie-slowly toward their certain victims. There were four creatures in total — hadn't Scott said there would be only two? — and each was unique, a different costume but the same goal.

Her chest was seizing. She couldn't breathe for a solid five seconds, long enough for a heavy clawed foot to make a shadow over her head. She rolled. The foot followed, and she sprang to her feet, the move probably one of the only thing that ever came in handy from years of kung fu training.

She ducked under a blow, firing a shot she hoped was close enough not to be a waste of bullets. She had blood soaking her shirt now, although she couldn't feel the pain through the rush of adrenaline. Theo looked much worse, with streaks and cuts running across his face, limbs, and torso. His eyes glowed yellow, a ferocious shade that burned brighter every time he got hurt. He roared, slashing into unforgiving bone.

Desperate, Sherry leaped onto the back of the nearest Berserker, squeezing her arms around its neck for dear life. Her heart thumped out of her chest. This move would probably kill her.

It writhed. Her cuts scraped against serrated edges. Gravity pulled her down, her body tossing from side to side. Holding one arm in place, and leaning her other elbow on the thing's shoulder, she aimed the barrel of her gun right at the hole in its skull mask, metal pushing into Achilles heel. She pulled the trigger.

Her hand jumped back with the force and the body under her spasmed, trying one last time to rid itself of its attacker. Then it fell, backwards, (because Sherry had moved the center of gravity there,) and pinned Sherry into the ground underneath its half-ton corpse.

She felt like a building had collapsed onto her. Even trying to move was painful — as her muscles strained and her lungs tried to breathe, the Berserker dug harder and deeper. She tried pulling herself out, her raw skin sliding on rough. She couldn't move the body more than an inch at a time, and the dancing feet of battle pounded ever closer to her skull.

"Throw me the gun!" Theo exploded, voice amplified by a painful hit.

She didn't want to — she needed it for herself — and she feverishly wanted him to quit fighting and get her out. But she threw it anyway, a weak toss executed by an arm half trapped under bone. She might've broken the other one.

He caught it mid-dive, skidding on his back across the room. He had three Berserkers after him at once. She guessed she wasn't much of a threat being where she was.

He moved like a predator, limbs sinewy and movements trained. He fought like a villain, placing blows anywhere and everywhere, regardless of the need. A shot blasted out, echoing between the walls. A Berserker dropped. Then it was three down, one to go, and then there were almost none — and a voice rang out, loud and regal — "I'm here."


	31. Ingenuity

_↣Like a small boat on the ocean↢_   
_↣Sending big waves into motion↢_   
_↣Like how a single word can make a heart open↢_   
_↣I might only have one match but I can make an explosion↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 31** **➵** **Ingenuity**

* * *

 

Sherry wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. A wart-covered crone, a stern politician, a risqué comic book villain - but what she got was a pretty woman, maybe a little over thirty, her hair curled and eyes cold. She was dressed to kill, literally, and had an expression that seemed to be permanently wrought from evil.

And she'd thought the Berserkers were bad.

Theo was grinning, the blood dripping from him in spades. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Kate snarled, her claws extended and teeth bared.

Sherry shrunk, her flight-or-fight instinct tantalizing her. She just wanted to be able to move. And as Theo ran at Kate, Sherry dug her arms under the Berserker's shoulders and shoved. It was like moving a wall. She was reminded of handstand push-ups, how it was nearly impossible to push herself back up once she was on her head. She strained and strained, pushing beyond her capabilities, until she was nearly crying with effort. Her left arm screamed. It had to be broken. All the pushing she was doing made her feel like she was fracturing it all over again.

A howl came from Kate Argent. There were sounds of fighting — whips, cracks, bangs — but Sherry had her eyes clenched shut, concentrating.

Finally, her torso slid out, and it was relatively easier to extract her feet. She was scraped up all over, a fact she didn't let herself consider. Biting her lip to mitigate the pain, she rose to her feet and snuck around the chamber, dodging blows between Theo and Kate.

She was trying to find out where Kate had come from — an entrance or exit — so she could sneak back to the car and use all the chemicals she'd brought here in case. They were stashed in a duffel in the trunk, but she was fairly certain Theo didn't know they were there. Not that she'd hidden them, but she'd just brought it along and Theo hadn't asked any questions.

Now, she felt her way along the far wall, flummoxed at the lack of doors, until the realization hit her. She looked up, and there was a trap door, an open hole in the stone ceiling. The was no way up but a knotted rope hung about two feet over Sherry's head.

She wanted to groan. Backing up, and taking a running start, she punched her feet into the floor and exploded upward, the same way she used to propel herself into a front flip. She caught the end of the rope and a rip of pain seared up her arm. Her eyes swimming, she pulled her body upwards, her feet dangling below her. Muscles clenched tight, she quickly removed her right hand and replaced it higher on the rope. And she pulled.

Inch by inch, she climbed her way up the rope. As soon as she got high enough, she pulled her feet up, wrapping them around the rope's base and breathing a sigh of relief as she easily pushed herself higher. Once she was fully inside the next room, she swung off the rope and landed, tottering, at the edge of the hole.

Wheezing uneven, gasping gulps, she resisted the urge to collapse on the ground. She brought her hands behind her head, opening her airways, and blinked the tears and sweat out of her eyes.

She was in an alcove that lead to stairs. After retrieving the rope, she climbed them, glad for once that her arms got to rest, and hoped that she wasn't making a mistake leaving Theo. Getting lost would be fatal.

There were little shelves in the winding wall of the staircase that held oil lamps, but they smoldered dimly, like the light of a single match.

The room at the end was like a lab, or a small museum or bunker. There were strange artifacts that seemed supernatural and ancient scattered on clawed-up tables. Potions and formaldehyde jars bubbled eerily. Was there really no way out?

A faint shimmer, like the reflection of light off a sequin, caught her eye. She moved through the room, past tables and cabinets and weapons on racks, and stopped at the far wall, where a ray of light poked through a hole in the disintegrating stone wall. The stone was in flat slabs and blocks, maybe a foot high and a little more wide. She pushed at the blocks. One of them made a grating sound, and she thought that it had budged a millimeter or so.

She picked up a spear from a rack, gingerly touching the crimson-stained metal staff. Grabbing near the blade end, she slammed it into the brick.  _Grate_. She tried again.

Clacking sounds echoed from the stairs. Sherry gasped.  _Kate_.

Thinking quickly, she tied the rope she'd stolen around a support column near the middle of the room.

She went to stand in front of the precarious wall.

Kate appeared. She was fuming, and looked unharmed apart from a three-claw scratch down her shoulder.

"Come and get me," Sherry yelled, in the bravest voice she could muster.

In an ear-splitting roar, Kate pounced. Her face was dappled with jaguar spots, and her teeth looked sharper and yellower the closer they came and — Sherry ducked in the nick of time, and Kate slammed into the wall like a battering iron. The stone bricks scattered, but Kate scrabbled at the floor at the last second.

There was a crater in the wall now that went through to the other side, where settling dust swirled in the dry air. It sweltered, and the heat diffused into the temple's cool interior. Over the edge, Sherry thought she was maybe three stories up. The walls were sloped, almost like a pyramid, and were stepped with blocks of stone.

Kate's claws dug into the cracked stone floor, her veins popping with fury as she pulled herself upward.

Absently, Sherry wondered what had happened to Theo.

Then she remembered the rope, still tied to a post, and hastily pulled the knotted end from the haphazard pile on the floor. Kate was still pulling her legs over the edge. With a running leap, and ignoring the desperate screams of her consciousness, Sherry plunged out into the open air.

She fell for what felt like ages, and she scrabbled with the rope so that her feet were planted on the knot and her body wrapped so as not to put too much strain on her left arm.

Still, it hurt. Her body jerked as the rope reached its full length, and she slammed against the sloped wall of the temple. The hard corners dug into her back and hips and shoulders and rubbed raw lines where skin met stone. The contents of her bag punched into her spine, the rope strap slipping off one shoulder.

She looked up, certain that Kate would slash the rope or come after her at any moment. Swallowing, although she was so dehydrated that there wasn't much left to swallow, she reluctantly looked down. There was at least fifteen feet below her. Jumping would ruin her legs, so she had no choice but to climb. She unraveled her chafed feet and ankles from the rope, setting them carefully on the inch or so of exposed ledge. She let go of one hand, grabbing another dusty ledge above her head. Her fingers nearly slipped from sweat, and her palm burned — she hadn't noticed the rope burn before. She replaced the other hand and clung to the ledge, stomach roiling and nerves unwilling to let her body move.

She'd always liked climbing walls before — at least, she liked the ones in padded gyms with automatic belays and big round knobs for easy grips. She'd never once climbed down a wall or gone actually rock climbing before, although her mother had always wanted to take her someday. Someday. Sherry gritted her teeth, resolved to get her mother from prison. She couldn't leave her there, not while they still had lifetimes of unfinished promises and experiences.

Her finger muscles burned. Her sneakers balanced on millimeters of rounded toe. She moved her feet down a ledge, followed with her hands. A foot at a time, every muscle and nerve screeching, she made her way down the wall. And then, finally close enough to the ground to jump, Sherry leaped.

Her feet hit the ground with a jolt that zapped up to her knees, and she pushed off so quickly in the direction of the parked car that she nearly face-planted. The sand beneath her feet slowed her sprint, and she careened dangerously around the abundant foliage of cacti, tumble weeds, and Joshua trees.

The car was forever away, and her legs were all tingly with lack of oxygen by the time she leaned over on her knees, dizzy. The car was unlocked, just in case they had to drive away quickly, but the deathly heat of the metal exterior now was as much as a lock itself. Her head pounded.

She wondered why Kate hadn't followed her, down, expecting the worst. Was there another, easier way down? Was she finishing off Theo? Was Sherry already as good as dead?

She pulled up her shirt, wrapping her battered fingers inside the fabric and tried again to touch the car. It was still hot, but at least it was bearable. Grimacing, she reached her fingers into the handle and pulled open the trunk. Her duffel was there, slightly warm, but still the only thing that hadn't yet been damaged by the day's activities.

She sorted through the bottles and cans. What would be most effective against a Chimera? As soon as she thought it, she knew. She picked up the biggest container, the heated metal urn that held deadly liquid nitrogen in its belly. Liquid nitrogen was generally used for instant freezing, like in industrial factories and to make astronaut ice cream. It could turn any living or dead object into fragile ice in less than an instant. And if Kate was also made of cells, it would work against her.

Sherry emptied out her backpack and stuffed the urn inside. It barely fit — she had to do a lot of tugging and stretching to get it in — and it was nearly impossible to carry around. the strings of the backpack cut into her shoulders, the roundness of the container bouncing awkwardly off her back.

Now, all she had to do was find Kate. Which... was easier said than done. She debated going through the front entrance again or going back the way she came. She decided on the latter, not because she was even considering climbing back up, but because in all likeliness, Kate was still up there. And she could just as easily jump down.

Sherry set off toward the back wall, pulling her backpack off her shoulders temporarily. She walked, conserving her energy, backpack of liquid nitrogen nestled in her arms. When she arrived, she looked up to see the rope still dangling there, circling listlessly in the breeze.

"HEY!" Sherry bellowed, as loud as she could be. "Come get me, Kate Argent!"

A mane of curled caramel hair appeared near the top. "And why should I?" Her voice was human, like it was when she'd first announced her presence. The absence of the demented growl nearly shook Sherry's concentration.

"You can't kill me from up there!"

"If I wanted to kill you, kid, I would have done it already." Her voice projected easily, the aftertaste of acid still pervading her words.

"Come down and prove it!" she hollered, blood pounding in her ears. She was surprised Kate wasn't planning on killing her, but the stupidity of her own apparent death wish scared her to hell and back.

"Listen, kid," Kate said. "I'm letting you live. Didn't your mother teach you manners?"

At any other time, Sherry would have fumed. Now, she was so filled with fear and primal energy that she had no room for any other emotion left. "What's one more kill to a murderer with a list as long as yours?" she taunted, although the way it came out she probably sounded more like a kitten than a bully.

She kept thinking Kate would snap and slash out her throat on the spot before she even had time to blink. But what Kate really seemed to be doing was rolling her eyes, although Sherry couldn't be certain from the distance. "Well, you asked for it," Kate replied, dropping instantly from the ledge down three stories to the ground. She landed cleanly, like a cat from a tree. Which she was, in a sense, at a larger scale. She held out a hand, flicking out her retractable cat's claws. Her eyes flashed green and purple spots spread out over her sharp cheekbones, over her forehead and nose and chin as her face contorted into a vestigial growl.

Kate slithered closer. Sherry uncapped the nitrogen. Cool fog tickled at her fingers.

Sickly green eyes leered down at her, as if taunting her to run away. "Not scared to die, huh?"

Forcing herself to breathe normally, she readied the container. "Only because I know I won't." A lie, but she didn't let herself think otherwise. She swung the canister.

Clear liquid, obscured by trailing fog, splashed into the air, coating Kate before she could think to dodge. It covered her from head to toe, freezing her hair stiff and crystallizing the mottled purple pattern that infected her face. She was a statue in a split second.

Panicking, Sherry dove behind Kate, slowing the werejaguar's fall by pushing against her still-soft back. A hard landing would have shattered her.

There was still some nitrogen left in the canister, but Sherry screwed it up and set it aside for future use. Now, to find Theo.

She wasn't sure how to enter back inside, but she figured climbing up a steep wall was better than falling through a floor again to land in a now-empty pit where a pool used to be.

She dug her fingers into the niches between stone, her sneakers pushing precariously on surfaces too narrow to tiptoe on, much less stand. Going down was easy; gravity was in her favor, and if she fell, at least she'd end up at her destination. Now, she had to pull herself up with only strength from her fingertips, and she was exhausted before she'd even gone up two feet. But she wasn't as scared — the worst was over, and all she had to do was find Theo. When she reached the rope, she latched on happily and shimmied up.

The room was as she'd left it, but for a smashed table in the corner. Theo wasn't here, so she untied the rope and brought it back to the trapdoor. This time, she tied it higher up on the rope so that it hung lower over the floor, making it easier for her trip back up. She hurried down the hall, into the open chamber, and found Theo leaning against a wall, wrapping strips of shirt around bloody gashes in his side.

"Oh my god," she squeaked, and rushed over to look at him.

He blinked in surprise, obviously dizzy with blood loss. "You're okay?!"

"Well, yeah," she said, thinking that her minor cuts, bruises, and broken arm paled in comparison to  _his_  state. "I froze her with liquid nitrogen."

"Oh," he said, sounding both disbelieving and disappointed. Disappointed that she'd won? But he explained, "I wish I'd thought of that."

"Next time," she said, firmly. "And there will be one, because I'm getting you out." She reached over with an open hand. "Now."

 


	32. Phases

_↣How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?↢_   
_↣In truth that she learns↢_   
_↣Or in times that he cried↢_   
_↣In bridges he burned↢_   
_↣Or the way that she dies↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 32** **➵** **Phases**

* * *

 

Araya Calaveras was suspicious when Sherry and Theo finally returned and neither of them were dead. With some help from a first aid kit Sherry'd brought, Theo's wound was mostly disinfected and healed by now, but Sherry's arm was still, sadly, broken.

She'd considered going to the nearest hospital, but the fear of Kate suddenly unfreezing in the trunk scared her enough to keep her looking toward the small town the Calaveras inhabited.

"Did you give up?" Araya sneered when they entered the building.

Despite her recent encounter with crazy Kate, the sight of Araya still sparked the primal fear instinct inside Sherry, so she stuck by Theo's side and let him do all the talking.

"Actually, no," he grinned, smug as ever. He had bruises on his face and blood staining his teeth, but they faded by the minute. "Kate's in my trunk. At least for now."

The woman didn't seem to believe them. "Recall the cost of trying to trick us."

"I want my payment."

Curtly, Araya assembled a small squadron of henchmen to flank her as they went back out to the car. Briefly, Sherry wondered what Araya would do if it turned out Kate  _had_  escaped — unlikely as that may be. Still, she felt her skin prickling.

The frozen statue of Kate was still there when Theo unlocked the trunk. Sherry breathed a sigh of relief — so her plan  _had_  worked. Kate seemed to be thawing, though, little bits of violet skin glistening with condensation.

"Severo," Araya ordered, a pleased curl to her lips, "Bring them what they asked for."

The man closest to Araya, with a scraggly goatee and beady eyes, nodded and left. He returned a few minutes later, after the other men had moved Kate from the trunk into what seemed like a portable metal refrigerator. The parcel was encased in a manila envelope, secured with a threatening stamp.

Theo took it from Severo's rough hands, unfastening the brad and pulling out a stack of forms and papers. His eyes flicked over it appraisingly and finally nodded. "And you'll be making calls to the court?"

"Disguised, of course," said Araya, sounding as if she hadn't actually expected to do this. Which, terrifying as she was, made Sherry feel a little bit proud — she'd outsmarted even the Calaveras. On the ride here, though, Theo had been lecturing her — it was foolish to jump on the Berserker; look what it had done for her arm; and sneaking away in the middle of battle was dangerous; she could have gotten hurt — and in the end she'd just felt awful, like she'd single-handedly botched the mission. He'd meant well, of course, to teach her so she'd improve, but she couldn't help but feel terrible.

Now, she and Theo clambered back into the faithful car, having lost their cargo but gained the key to her mother's freedom. They drove into the desert, sand and flies whipping the windows, and made their way steadily back to the border.

**➵➵➵**

Just over three days after they'd first left Beacon Hills, the two of them arrived wearily in San Francisco, where Sherry nearly sprinted around a whole block, desperate to get her legs into motion again. Theo was oddly comfortable, probably because his werewolf traits kept him from feeling too cramped or antsy. Or maybe it was just him.

She rummaged for her wallet in the car, pulling out a few bills from her rapidly dwindling stash. She wanted to see her mother immediately, yes, but her grumbling stomach disagreed. She bought three burgers from a corner lunch spot that was growing busier before lunch hour, biting into one herself and handing the other two to Theo. She slurped down a jumbo-sized iced tea and leaned on the dusty car (she'd long ago given up on staying clean), watching the boy for instructions.

He'd already sent copies of the papers to Braeden, who didn't trust him one bit but had a soft spot for Sherry, and made constant calls throughout the road trip to government officials, lawyers, and Scott's dad — who'd apparently just been promoted within the FBI.

Generally, handling affairs with the government would take months — years, even. But with their connections, and a few supernatural cheats, Sherry's mother was minutes away from release. It was all just too easy.

"We'll just have to sign in at the front," Theo said. "And present the evidence, make sure it's all valid. And then your mother is free."

She nodded. Her stomach roiled with nerves. She wasn't ready. But then, when was she ever?

Sherry threw her wrappers into a trash bin and wiped her hands. "I should change."

"Stop hiding behind excuses," he chided. "Let's go. Don't worry about messing up again; I'll do all the talking."

He nudged her forward, hovering his hand behind her shoulders like a guide.

The inside was cooler than she expected, air-conditioned wind like cool blades on her skin. People in crisp suits sent her looks, clearly disturbed by the dirtiness of her appearance. She  _knew_  they should have taken the roundabout to Beacon Hills for showers and clean clothes.

Theo signed his name on a clipboard and Sherry did the same. A stern woman with razor-sharp kohl around her eyes led them into a back office, where she inspected the envelope full of evidence.

"In the same condition as when we sent it," said Theo.

"Agent McCall sent in a good word," she replied, nodding. "I'll get this to my boss and we'll discharge Mrs. Ming as soon as possible."

"Thank you so much."

"It's my job." She led them back out to reception and motioned for them to take a seat on a hard wooden bench. "I'll be back in a minute."

And she was, in precisely that time. (Sherry had been staring at the clock on the far wall.) The woman nodded. "Everything is checked and ready to go. If you can make your way to 7th Street, Mrs. Ming will be discharged at any moment."

So Sherry clambered back into Theo's dad's car, which, as she now thought about parents and cars, seemed like a very dad-like car, except that dads didn't usually lend their cars to their kids for days on end. And, come to think of it, she'd never even met Theo's dad, or his mother, in fact, and actually, Theo had never even  _mentioned_  the existence of parents until this car. But she didn't care, because that was only a minor problem and she had bigger things to worry about now. Like her own mother.

**➵➵➵**

County Jail #2 was as oppressively gray as she remembered it, but at least this time she didn't have to go through security and actually enter the facilities. She introduced herself to the receptionist and was told gruffly to sit and wait. Except there were two chairs in the entire lobby, and both were taken, so she found a spot near a potted plant to stand. Theo joined her shortly and said, "Did you talk to the person behind the desk?"

"Yeah," she said.

"You sure you handled it properly without me? I know you've been a little off lately, so hopefully you did okay."

Off? She'd been scared a lot, yes, and justly nervous, but she didn't think she'd been out of character. And she couldn't understand why he made that one act out to be bigger than she'd thought it was — but he was generally right, so her worry grew. She'd thought she'd handled it properly before, but now she wasn't sure.

Finally, a door opened and a guard stepped out. Sherry almost let out a breath, disappointed, but then a woman with blonde hair, dressed in the same clothes she'd had on when she'd been admitted, appeared after him.

" _Mom_ ," Sherry gasped, and ran to her. She slowed down as she got closer, composing herself. Her family wasn't one for hugs. But this case was different. Linda pulled her daughter in, trapping Sherry's broken arm in between them. She nearly cursed.

Her mother pulled back sharply. "What?"

"I broke my arm," Sherry said, wanting to cry — not from the physical pain, but from the sudden truckload of emotion. "I broke my arm in Mexico getting you out of here; that's why I'm so dirty; I didn't have time to change; I'm so sorry!"

"I don't know why you're apologizing for that," Linda said, eyes crinkling. She nodded at the guard, dismissing him, and walked with Sherry out the door. "But...  _why_  were you in Mexico?"

"My friend Theo had the idea to make a deal with Araya Calaveras," she said. "It's a long story."

The horror on her mother's face almost made her smile. Old, peppy Sherry would never have done anything like this. In the space of half a year, she'd changed.

**➵➵➵**

The rest of the day was rushed. She felt like she'd been shuttled a thousand places in only a few hours. She'd brought her mother home (by which she meant Parrish's house), got her temporarily settled, and took a long-awaited shower. Then, as her mother made phone calls and began getting her life back together, Sherry met Theo outside and let him take her to the hospital.

"Getting a cast can wait," Sherry said, unfastening her seatbelt. "At least until after I do what needs to be done."

"You can't do much with a broken bone, Sherry," he retorted. "You don't heal like I do. And I can't have you blundering about, getting hurt again. You have to take responsibility for your own actions."

He sounded like a preacher. Or a parent. But his words stung. It  _had_  been her fault she'd gotten hurt, and she  _had_  made mistakes in Mexico. She shut the car door and it slammed, mostly because of the slope of the pavement. But Theo reprimanded her anyway, and she thought, even if just for a moment, that she couldn't seem to do anything right.

He checked her into the emergency room — she didn't want to accidentally leak something about the supernatural, and he was trained with these things — and she waited in a doctor's office, alone, to get checked on. She'd only broken a bone once before, when she was nine and reckless, and she couldn't remember much from last time, except that it took ages and she'd had to have surgery.

Theo had left already, leaving her bike chained up outside for when she finished.

**➵➵➵**

Hours later, with a fresh pink cast on her arm, Sherry pedaled to Scott's house and knocked on the door.

He answered, at first surprised to see her, and then grinned and hugged her. "I haven't seen you in days."

"I freed my mother," she reported happily. "And I took down Kate Argent!"

He ruffled her hair. "I'm proud of you. Come in!"

His kitchen was packed, no pun intended. Stiles, Malia, Mason, that kid Corey, Lydia, Parrish, Liam, and Hayden were all there. Theo had yet to arrive. They looked like they had all been there awhile, like she'd just wandered in at the end of a meeting.

Upon seeing her, most of them uttered relieved greetings. Liam was the first to notice her cast. He rose from his seat next to Hayden to inspect it, holding the plaster gingerly, as if pushing a little too hard would break her again. All eyes were on them as he turned her forearm slowly. She held a breath, glad there was an inch of barrier between his fingers and her skin.

Then she noticed Hayden's expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes bright like the gears turning in her head were sparking. Sherry tugged away her arm, cradling it to her chest. She was more socially blind than most people, but she could tell that something had happened between them. Something that everyone else seemed to know, because they all had looks about them that said they were worried, or pitying, or uncomfortable. She averted her eyes.

"So what did I miss?"

"Three deaths in the past three days," Scott said, still staring at her strangely. Lydia patted the seat next to her and took Sherry's arm when she sat. As Scott continued on, she rummaged for a pen in her purse and took her time to sign the rough pink material of the cast. "And the super moon is tomorrow. The moon will be closer to the earth and whatever effects the full moon usually has will be even worse."

Across the room, Liam glanced at Hayden and shifted, the tension evident in the set of his jaw. Malia pressed her lips together, determination shining through her pores. Parrish just seemed confused.

There was some discourse about the Dread Doctors and the chimeras, mostly centered around Hayden and Corey, but nothing much else that was interesting to Sherry. Something was off, though, and it took her several minutes to realize that it was Kira — or rather, not Kira. There was a hole in the pack where the kitsune once was, but no one seemed to be bothered except her.

Sherry wanted to curl in on herself, but that was a habit she had to break. So she mustered up her courage and leaned her head on Lydia's shoulder. The girl seemed surprised, but not put off. Sherry relaxed. "How do you do it?"

"Hm?"

"Always be so calm and collected, even when everything around you is shifting."

"I don't," Lydia responded, softly. "But I try my best, because otherwise I'd be dead."

 


	33. Declassified

_↣Well I know it wasn't you who held me down↢_   
_↣Heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free↢_   
_↣So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains↢_   
_↣And we never even know we have the key↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 33** **➵** **Declassified**

* * *

 

She biked to school the next morning, passing by the parked school buses to chain up her bicycle. She noticed someone there, and snuck by again before she walked to class.

It was two people. Liam and Hayden, close against a bright yellow bus. Hayden was taller than Liam, but she leaned against the bus so that they were the same height. Liam had one of his hands in her hair, tucking wavy strands behind her ear. Sherry backed away quickly, nearly sprinting until she reached the side doors of the school building. She felt nauseous — not jealous, not really, but disappointed that she'd been right. Something  _had_  happened in the past three days, something that turned Liam and Hayden from childhood enemies to barely friends to now lovers. She'd seen it coming, and she'd hoped it wouldn't, and she'd been proven right and let down yet again.

Malia approached her, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Cut that out," she complained, joining Sherry. "You reek."

"I'm not trying to!"

Malia growled. "I knew it. If you want me to fight either of them, I will-"

"I don't want to hurt  _them_ ," she said. "I want..." But she refused to say any more, and fingered the open ends of her pink cast. She hated the thing.

"Trust me, you won't feel any better if you do that," Malia said. "I can fight them and then you can stop smelling."

"Trust me, I won't stop smelling if you do that," she returned.

"Listen," Malia said, with the reluctance of cat near a bathtub, "I don't like many people, and I probably wouldn't like you, but you're like a puppy that just won't stop getting hurt.  _My_  advice is, you'll always keep chasing your tail if you don't woman up and go for what you want. If you want him, get him. If you want to hurt someone, hurt them."

"But you know I won't."

Malia grunted. "Well, I tried."

**➵➵➵**

Near the end of the day, a wailing siren interrupted her regularly scheduled multivariable calculus class. Abandoning her graphing calculator, she hurried to the window and strained her neck to look outside. When the teacher passed by, she pretended to blow her nose.

Outside, a crowd gathered as paramedics loaded a body, still alive, onto a gurney and into the ambulance. She couldn't make out much except pale skin and a shimmer of silver.

Mason was there, racing to talk to whomever was on the gurney, and she realized that it was Corey, that quiet chimera kid, who was leaking mercury. Didn't chimeras do that when their bodies started to fail? Right before the Dread Doctors killed them?

Back in her seat, Sherry discreetly pulled out her phone and texted Scott, asking whether she should go to help.

He responded shortly, her phone buzzing so loudly she was almost certain she'd get a talking-to from her teacher. Scott had said no. She frowned, disappointed, and hid her phone away in her backpack.

Calculus was impossible to concentrate on now. All she wanted to thin about were the well-beings of her friends and Corey, but there was nothing she could do.

Except.

What was it that Malia had said earlier, that everyone else seemed to be constantly reminding her of? That she was too passive. That she had to make her own decisions herself.

Sherry stuffed her belongings into her backpack, not caring if her graph paper folded or if her pencil streaked up the insides of her neat bag. She approached the teacher and said, "I feel really bad. Can I go call my parents?"

"The school day's nearly over—"

"I think I'm going to throw up." And she left.

She almost did feel like throwing up after doing that, but she tried to force herself not to mind. She'd never once intentionally ditched class, even when she did feel awful.

As she rushed through the hallway, she saw Liam and Hayden running in the opposite direction. They paled at the sight of her.

"Where are you going? What happened to Corey?"

"He started bleeding mercury," said Liam, ignoring her first query. "Mason's worried about him."

"I would be, too," she said, and glanced at their linked hands. "Hayden, are you okay so far?"

"Totally." She sounded stiff, although it was ambiguous whether the cause was Sherry's presence or the guilt of the lie.

Sherry assumed the first, willing to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. "Alright. Let me know if I can help at all." Smiling reassuringly, she stepped out of their way and continued down the hall.

**➵➵➵**

Scott was still there, flanked by Mason. Sherry rushed up to them, hugging Mason supportively. He spoke angrily to Scott, fury and anxiety mixing in his piercing glare. Her attempt at support didn't do anything to relax him, but at the very least made Sherry feel better.

"We need to go to the hospital," Mason argued. "The Doctors will be after him."

"I agree," said Scott. "But it's going to be difficult to fend by myself."

"I have a gun," Sherry piped up.

"Guns won't do anything."

Of course they wouldn't. They never did. She began to wonder why Braeden even gave her one in the first place if she couldn't even use it to fight for herself. Maybe it was just for that reason.

"Let's go," urged Mason, and Scott twisted his hands together in defeat.

**➵➵➵**

The Beacon County Municipal Hospital sounded like the outbreak of an apocalypse. Patients called home, doctors screeched into landlines, and nurses lashed out. Gurneys and racks of equipment scattered across hallways, fallen tools leaving scratches on the linoleum and mixing with pools of fresh blood.

The moment she pushed past the double doors, the tang of iron and antiseptic battled for dominance on her tastebuds, fire alarms whining and sprinklers darkening her hair one wet drop at a time. Scott stood still, listening. The traffic and chaos seemed to slow around him, action blurring to a backdrop. Mason stood by Sherry, shoulder to shoulder, and she felt the tension beneath his jacket sleeve like a wall of cement.

Scott pushed past wailing people in sea-foam green — whether they were nurses in scrubs or patients in gowns, Sherry moved to quickly to tell. They reached the back door without encountering anyone, but Scott kept his nose trained and his expression stern. A far door made of plain metal, clearly meant only for employees, stood ajar, human-sized dents marring the surface. Scott pulled it open and slipped through, Sherry and Mason following after.

It was a garage of sorts here, a wide open space filled with parked ambulances and other emergency vehicles. Scott stood by a bright fire engine, an all-too-familiar droop in his stature.

There was Corey, slumped against the truck, a spear through his torso and a glaze over his dead eyes.

**➵➵➵**

It was hard to concentrate the rest of the day, but she knew she had to or someone else might die. Like Hayden, who was innocent and hadn't done a single thing wrong. But neither Hayden nor Liam would return Sherry's calls or texts.

She'd been running low on sleep lately, and when she was sleep-deprived, her nerves often went overboard. She was shaking now, high on two cups of coffee, and terrified for her friends' lives. All she wanted to do was make sure Hayden was alright.

But she stowed it away, at least for the time being, when she returned home to check up on her mother. Linda sat at the messy kitchen table, pensively filling out forms and making calls.

Quietly, Sherry moved to a cupboard, taking out two mugs and filling them with hot water. She dropped in two teabags and slid one of the mugs, a round white one painted with the American flag, in front of her mother.

The forms were everywhere, piled on one side and spread out haphazardly on the other. The fresh white paper nearly covered all of the table, hiding the stained splotches of wood and ever-present sticky spots from view. Dense phrases peppered the sheets, shouting  _tax returns_  and  _medical care_  and  _tier three car insurance_. On the phone, Linda filled the air with a professional tone — "Yes, absolutely, I've been employed by the CIA for twenty years; my skill sets have only increased over the years—" and excuses were peppered in here and there, distracting the other end with whatever it took to pull them away from discussing her term in prison.

Sherry rested her head on her folded arms, just watching. It had only been half a year since she'd been sentenced, but it felt like a lifetime. If college meant not seeing her only remaining parent for years at a time, she didn't want to go.

The immediate emergency rose again to Sherry's mind. She had to leave now, although she desperately wanted to stay safe and warm with her mother. Reminding herself of the worst, she forced herself to hug her mother goodbye, an action that felt almost alien to her.

Then she left, racing to Scott's place on her bike, her chest searing with effort. He wasn't there when she rang the doorbell, so she pulled out her phone and texted him.

The low rumble of an engine met her ears and she looked up, relieved to see both Scott  _and_  Theo in Theo's car, pulling into the driveway. A trace of a smile disappeared from Theo's face as he looked up, replaced by the resting solemn expression. He waved to Sherry as Scott stepped out, and then drove the car away.

Scott looked absolutely upset, the wide eyes of shock mixed with the tense mouth of repressed sorrow. His fist was clenched, his breathing strained. Something had just happened. Something  _beside_  Corey.

She hugged him, almost surprised when he returned it immediately. His grip was like a boa constrictor's as he nearly lifted her from the ground, his anger and disappointment and sadness seeping from his soul to his muscles into her.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't respond at first. Then, in a tiny little voice as he let go and composed himself, he whispered, "Some people aren't who I thought they were."

She felt bad pressing, but she thought it might be helpful to know. "Theo?"

His head shook minutely. "No." He sighed, his voice bitter. "I can't trust anyone."

"You can trust me, remember?" she said. "I'm always on your side, even if no one else is." She thought of months ago, when Scott had been slandered by the red-haired alpha. When his friends had turned their backs on him, so he had no one to trust but her.

But she couldn't wrap her head around the concept. Why now? Why again? She considered all the options. Whose betrayal would render Scott this distraught? His girlfriend was gone, Theo seemed to be safe, and Mason had nothing to hide. So out of everyone else, Stiles, Malia, Lydia, Parrish... The glaringly obvious hit her like a steel bat.

That night, before she'd left to Mexico, she'd overheard Theo and Stiles talking about Donovan. How Stiles shouldn't tell on Theo for killing the chimera on the roof because Theo hadn't told on him.

"Was it Stiles?"

Scott froze, midway through unlocking his front door.

"What did Theo tell you?" she asked, skirting around what little she knew until she was certain.

"We don't  _kill_  people," he responded, his voice trembling. "Not like that."

_Like that?_ "But wasn't it self defense?" She didn't know for sure, but from the way Stiles had addressed it on the roof, it seemed as if he hadn't meant to kill Donovan. And that screamed fishy.

"He hit him..." said Scott, slowly, "With a wrench over his head, like he wanted him to hurt. I can't believe he would do that."

"I can't either." Which meant there was a lie somewhere, and she intended to find out. Not because she cared about the truth, but because she cared about her friends. "I gotta go," she decided, and added, "Can you check up on Liam and Hayden for me? They seemed a little off earlier."

Then she swung her leg back over her bike and tore to the sheriff's station.

 


	34. Insurgence

 

_↣I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you↢_   
_↣And I need you like a heart needs a beat, but it's nothin' new↢_   
_↣I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue, and you say,↢_   
_↣"Sorry," like the angel heaven let me think was you↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 34** **➵** **Insurgence**

* * *

 

"I know you killed Donovan," Sherry said, throwing herself in Stiles's path as he tried to exit the sheriff's station.

He jumped, suddenly pale. "What?" He glanced behind himself, making sure no one else heard. No one like Lydia, who lingered inside the station to discuss something with Parrish.

"I knew since Josh attacked you on the roof," she said, hands on her hips. "I heard. And now Scott knows, too, but he thinks you're a cold-blooded murderer."

"I didn't—"

"Let me finish," she bit, filled with fury. "I don't know why no one thinks I have the right to speak for myself." She huffed. "Anyway, I don't know anything about what you did, except that I'm almost certain it was self defense. And I can't fathom why you thought it was a good idea to avoid telling him about something this huge to begin with, but it is what it is. So you've got to sort this out yourself."

Poor Stiles looked heartbroken. "How... how does Scott know?"

"That's irrelevant. Where the eff is Theo?"

He shrugged, pointing to his dad, and slunk out of the station with his tail between his legs.

She knocked on the sheriff's door and let herself in once he beckoned through the gap in the blinds.

"I'm told you know where Theo is."

His eyes were tired as they looked up, bags forming among the wrinkles and smile lines of his pink skin. "I knew where he was five minutes ago, but as for now, I can't help."

She connected Theo's presence to the sheriff's haggard appearance. "What did he tell you?"

Sheriff Stilinski sighed. He motioned to close his door. Stomach sinking, Sherry complied and moved closer. "So?"

"I don't want you to overreact," he began, and Sherry nearly laughed. "He... Theo... Donovan attacked him, awhile ago, and he fought back..."

"And killed him," Sherry interrupted. "Right?"

The sheriff blinked. "Well, yeah—"

Fuming, Sherry nodded and left. She couldn't believe Theo. She could understand, maybe, if he'd misinterpreted Stiles's actions as murderous, and she could understand if Theo meant to take the blame for Stiles, but both? Wanting to both expose the truth and hide it? She needed an explanation.

So she hopped on her bike and pedaled for about a block until she realized, again, that she had no idea where Theo lived, or how to get there, or where he normally hung out. She squeezed her brakes, dug a foot into the sidewalk, and jabbed her fingers onto her phone screen until Theo answered on the other end.

"Hey, Sherry!" he chirped. "What's up?"

"Get to my house," she said, her voice careful and controlled. "I need to talk to you."

"In... person?"

"Yeah, because I feel like punching you," she replied, and hung up.

He was there, standing on the front steps when she arrived. He had wide, earnest eyes and a trembling hand reminiscent of an agitated Stiles. The front door was open behind him.

"Listen up," she announced, swinging her leg over her bike.

Theo held up his hands in an attempt to stop her. "Wait! Whatever you're going to say, it can wait! I need to show you something—"

"Like an explanation?" she spat.

"It's an emergency," Theo pled, grabbing her arm. "Don't be rash."

She kicked him. "Don't touch me, you liar!"

He stalled. "...Liar?"

"Yeah, you double-crossing, lying..." she struggled for a good word. "Jerk!"

"I didn't peg you for the 'lying is always sin' type."

She burned. "I'm not! I just," she kicked him, "can't stand it," kick, "when people mess with my friends!"

He put his hands on her shoulders, like he was going to calm her. "Stop being irrational, Sherry. You know I'm on your side. Stop messing things up."

Her vision blurred wet, and she wondered what she'd done to deserve this. Why Theo couldn't still be the sunshine boy he was before. Why everything—

"Your mom is hurt, Sherry!" he exploded. "I've been trying to tell you that this whole time!"

Why everything she'd tried so hard to build up now crumbled into desert sand.

He brought her inside — she was still processing the idea of hurt again — and led her upstairs, explaining and explaining.

"I tried to help, I swear," he was saying, "I only got here a few minutes ago and she let me in, that's how I know. I was sitting on the couch when there was a shatter and a scream upstairs; I rushed up to help and she was already lying there; whoever did it must've escaped; I'm sorry, Sherry; I think it was a chimera, but I'm not really sure..."

She wanted him to shut up.

The whitewashed door was ajar, pools of wet shimmering on the carpet. Linda Ming was against the far wall, unconscious, her hand crimson over her belly. She had gashes on her pale upper arms and flecks of blood among her freckles.

"Ohmy—" Sherry leaped forward, checking her mother for breaths. Linda's chest lifted up and down unevenly, probably impeded by whatever damage had been done. "Did you even call 911?!"

She barely noticed him moving closer from the corner of her eye. "Of course."

Nodding uselessly, she flexed her fingers and curled them back, unsure what to do.

When she stood back up, he hugged her, all warmth and good intent, and she almost didn't want to hate him, didn't want to remind him- "You're still a liar."

➵➵➵

She was starting to hate the sheriff's station. Only bad things ever happened there: Tracy's attack, Parrish's lies, Donovan's anger, the lies and ignorance and incompetence of an organization that failed to protect.

She stormed through the station, a miniature, contained tornado that still felt obligated to respond to greetings from deputies and officers she passed by. How many of them suspected the true nature of Beacon Hills, the chimeras and wolves and violence that hid in the woods?

Parrish was in the last place she'd have expected, obviously, secluded in the farthest back corner of the station, behind metal bars and talking to Lydia. They were having a moment, or something, Parrish's hands on the bars and Lydia's clenched on the strap of her cross-body purse. As she entered, phone in hand, ready to text him, their moment broke and Parrish looked almost guilty, although she wasn't sure it was because of his position or that she'd caught him at this moment.

"Jordan," Sherry said in her most plaintive voice. "Something happened."

His hands dropped from the metal. "What did? Is everything okay?"

"No, everything's not okay," she retorted, tired and exhausted and emotionally spent. "My mom is in the hospital and she might die."

"She won't die," Lydia assured her, rubbing her shoulder. Sherry was almost comforted, although she was certain that banshee-senses didn't have any part in the prediction.

"Jordan," she said again, hoping and hinting. The fact that he was behind bars didn't even bother her.

He didn't get the hint, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. "I don't know what you expect me to do from here."

"Then get out," she reasoned. If Scott got out under murder charges and her mother did from counts of treason, surely Parrish could too.

"He doesn't want to," Lydia explained. "He doesn't want to hurt anyone."

"Why would he—"

"I'm the one who's been taking the bodies, Sher," he said helplessly. "I have to protect everyone. I'm trying to help."

Yet he couldn't help her the only time she ever tried to say she needed him. The one time she craved the connection of family as it grew weaker.

Her phone slipped through her fingers.

➵➵➵

Bed seemed like a good idea. The sheets were cold and her room was a mess, but all she wanted to do was sleep. Maybe if she did, the velocity of life would slow. She didn't feel like dying, but she certainly didn't feel like living.

Her newly cracked phone was cradled in her hands, one tap away from turning on. Her fingers itched like they wanted to call someone.

She didn't know whom.

She counted them off on her fingers. Mother, hurt. Uncle, self-jailed. Kira, not here. Theo, questionable. Liam, preoccupied. Hayden, with him. Stiles, estranged. Scott, busy. Mason, mourning. Malia...?

She wondered whether she should.

The screen turned on, the brightness blinding in her darkened room. Wincing, she turned it down and found Malia's name under contacts. Her finger hovered over the call button.

The screen lit up with Theo's name.

She threw the phone down on her bed, but it continued to ring. It buzzed on the sheets, glowing from the edges. The sound was even more irritating than she remembered, inflaming her fury like pumps of oxygen to a fire. Finally fed up, she answered.

"Yes?"

"Come outside."

"What for?"

"Stop moping and do something," he responded. When had doing something ever ended positively? "Liam and Hayden need our help now," he urged. "Do you want them to be hurt?"

She hated how he made her feel worse. "Help them yourself," she said, not because she didn't care, but because she did, too much to let them be hurt by her carelessness.

"I think you're depressed," Theo analyzed, and sighed. "Well, it's not my fault if I can't handle them on my own."

She hung up.

The pillow was soft as she buried her face in it, but not soft enough. No matter how she adjusted the blankets and pillows, there was still a gaping hole somewhere, and it took a while until she finally realized that she couldn't just fill it with physical warmth. She was lonely, and frustrated, and exhausted. And she was too afraid to do something about it.

The doorbell rang.

She hugged her blankets tighter, tears pricking at her eyes. It rang again.

"Go away," she mumbled, her voice breaking. "Go away!" She screamed it as loud as she could, and wiped at her eyes.

There was a knock at her window.

Her blood curdled, her heart rate sprinting.

"Let me in," Theo's voice pleaded.

"You're a creep!" she yelled. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Don't make me break the window."

Wrapping the blankets around herself, she stomped toward him and opened the curtains. He smiled sadly, like he was trying to apologize. She hated his guts, but she unlocked the window and let him in anyway.

He made a beeline downstairs, expecting Sherry to follow him.

She did.

"Put on your shoes," he ordered, and left through the front door. His motorcycle waited at the curb. She stuffed her bare feet into sneakers and sulked out the door.

It was a little difficult to lock the door with her arms still buried inside her blankets, but she managed it somehow and climbed onto Theo's motorcycle without saying a word.

She wondered why she was still letting him boss her around.

He raised an eyebrow at her blankets, but stepped on the gas and got going anyway. The soft rumbling of the bike's engine calmed Sherry's nerves, and combined with the blankets and Theo's warmth, almost lulled her to sleep. Then she felt a jerk and she realized they'd reached their destination.

The neon sign glowed green over the warehouse exterior and her stomach sank. Sinema.

"Come on," Theo growled, his face rapidly morphing. She left her blankets on the bike and crept to the back door. Theo didn't stop to wait.

He barreled through the open door and was gone. Crashing and yelling echoed eerily from inside, pricking at Sherry's bones. She wasn't scared of the danger yet, just anxious that she wouldn't like what she'd find.

She was defenseless. Her gun was at home, although it would be useless against the Dread Doctors anyway. If only she hadn't used up all the liquid nitrogen...

The world became infinitely darker the moment she stepped inside. Then she pushed past the bead curtains and into chaos. Strobe lights flashed, the movie screen playing a grisly scene. Shattered glass lay everywhere, mixed into spilled drinks. Scott coughed up blood on the floor, too damaged to stand and fight. Liam struggled against a Dread Doctor as Theo slashed and bit. Amid the flashes of light and darkness, Sherry couldn't tell how many Doctors there were — one? Or three? But she could tell that someone was missing.

"Hayden!" Liam screeched, scrabbling against tile and glass.

Hayden. She dashed around the edges of the nightclub, careful not to get tripped up by the brawls that ripped through the furniture and walls. Where could Hayden be? She couldn't be gone, not yet. Not when Sherry'd just arrived.

The counter was bare but for smashed bottle shards, no one hidden behind it.

Sherry's fists clenched as she inched along the shelves, as silent as she could force herself to be. Her back brushed against something jutting out of the wall.

She spun around and grabbed it. A door knob, coated with something slick, nearly blended into the walls around it.

Stomach turning, she crept inside.

Bars of light fell from ventilation shafts in the ceiling, lighting up a backdrop of shelves and cleaning supplies. In the center, a Dread Doctor held Hayden in a chokehold, a syringe in hand.

Base instinct told Sherry to either throw herself at the Doctor or run, but she forced herself to do neither. Her mind raced, struggling and stumbling for a solution — and her eyes lit upon a rack of cleaning tools. Brooms, mops, vacuum cleaners... and a crowbar.

Sprinting, she snatched the heavy metal bar and swung it at the Dread Doctor's head. It barely made a clang — the next moment, she found herself thrown against the cement wall, the wind knocked out of her chest, unsure how she'd gotten there.

The door flew open, Liam pleading with Hayden's name, just as the syringe buried itself in her throat.

 

 


	35. Decay

_↣Oh, no, not I!↢_   
_↣I will survive.↢_   
_↣Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive.↢_   
_↣I've got all my life to live.↢_   
_↣I've got all my love to give.↢_   
_↣And I'll survive,↢_   
_↣I will survive.↢_

__

* * *

**Chapter 35** **➵** **Decay**

* * *

 

 

"Get her to the animal clinic," Scott said, and turned toward the exit. "I'll meet you there!" Those last words were wind over his shoulder as the bead curtains rustled, disturbed.

Hayden was standing—she hadn't died on the spot, as Sherry had first feared. Her movements were sluggish as Liam led her out to Theo's car, her eyes blinking slowly open and closed like those of a sleepy cat.

Sherry, feeling useless, reached for Hayden's arm. She wrapped it around her own shoulder to help Hayden support her own weight, although as soon as she did, Theo shoved her out of the way to take over. Sherry gasped in surprise and almost began to argue, but the determined look on Theo's face chilled her enough that she didn't dare.

"Keep her awake," Theo growled as they got Hayden into the car. Liam crawled into the backseat with her, his hands clenched tightly with hers, a worried kiss placed on the back of her hand. Thin veins of violet black seeped from Hayden's pale neck, down her forearm, and into the spaces where the couple's skin met. The veins seemed to pulse, like blood but more sinister, from Hayden to Liam.

As Sherry fastened her seatbelt in the passenger seat, watching them from the rear view mirror, she didn't have to ask to know that at some point, Liam had learned the trick of taking away pain. And from odd way that the veins flowed not from hand to hand like she'd seen with Scott, but from hand to lips, she learned something else. Liam's eyes caught hers in the mirror. Suddenly incriminated, she smiled reassuringly and flicked her own gaze away.

She landed on Theo, who stared at the yellow circles of headlights on the road ahead, and shivered. His expression seemed to grow colder by the minute. Theo glanced back at Hayden, reminding Liam, "I don't think it's a good idea for her to fall asleep."

"Hayden?" Liam whispered, nudging her with his shoulder. "Hayden, you gotta stay awake."

She shifted, eyelids drooping and blinking ever so slowly. "I'm... so tired," she murmured, wisps of her life seeming to escape with each breath.

"Yeah, I know," Liam assured, voice cracking. "But you can't go to sleep." He looked back at Theo, his blue eyes wide and glistening. "How do we help her?"

"I don't know." One hand clenched the steering wheel and the other rested under his chin, his thumb stroking the side of his jaw, almost resembling a cartoon villain. At that thought, Sherry had to reprimand herself—now was not the time to be petty—and... at the moment she couldn't recall why she'd been upset at him to start with.

"When it's wolfsbane poisoning," Theo continued, "You burn it out. But I don't know anything about mercury. Especially a kind that's probably been altered by them."

Liam wasn't satisfied. His fingers were clenched so tight around Hayden's that Sherry noticed the tips of claws resurfacing. "Is she going to heal?"

"The problem is she's not really like us, Liam," Theo sighed. "None of them are. They're more like... like cheap knockoffs. She might not be as strong as we are, or heal like we do." He paused, letting the information sink in as he turned a corner. "She's not a real werewolf."

"What... what if we turn her into one?"

Sherry nearly choked. "What?" To her left, the corners of Theo's lips slightly curled up - and for a moment she thought he might laugh.

"Nice idea," he said instead, without a hint of amusement. "Except you and I can't do that."

Without missing a beat, Liam responded, "But Scott can."

**➵➵➵**

The animal clinic was cold and reflective, the metal tables and sterilized cabinets almost draining in the dark. Liam had his back against the wall, his fingers fumbling around Hayden's neck and cheek. She was balanced in his lap, emitting almost inaudible groans. If it weren't for the noises she could have been mistaken for a corpse.

Theo stood by them, staring intently out the high windows. Sherry couldn't see what he saw from where she was across the room, but she didn't bother to ask and interrupt his focus.

The heavy door swung open and crashed shut, Scott emerging from the clouds of heavy rain, dripping from his hair to his nose to the hem of his shirt.

"She's getting worse," Liam announced intensely. His intent was clear. "I think she's dying."

Scott's gaze flicked around, his eyebrows knitting. "It's got to be some kind of mercury poisoning."

"Scott," Liam began, looking tall despite his position. "Remember what you promised me. You said you'd do everything you could to save her." A deep breath. "If she's a real werewolf, we can save her." He was pleading, every vowel giving away his desperation. "You gotta give her the bite."

_Say yes,_  Sherry urged. All chances said Hayden would die from the poisoning. Not a single chimera had survived the Dread Doctor's kill switch yet, and likely Hayden wouldn't either. She knew the bite was dangerous, but... if there was a chance that her friend could be saved, that chance would be a werewolf bite. She stared at Scott, hoping, but...

"No."

The change in Liam's expression was instant. His eyes narrowed and he seemed ready to pounce at any moment. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Liam, look at her," Scott said. "She's too weak. It'll kill her. We don't even know what the mercury's doing to her. We don't even know if it is actually mercury." He was weary, bags sagging under his eyes and the drips of rain down his skin almost seeming like sweat, or tears. "This can't be the only way to save her life."

"It saved mine."

"That was different," Scott replied, not budging in his resolve. "You were  _hanging off a ledge._ "

"You promised." His voice shook; his eyes glinted yellow. "You said you'd do everything you could."

"Which is why I'm not going to do something I think is going to kill her. There has to be another way to save her."

"Scott," Sherry piped up, her nails digging into her palms. "Scott, he's right." She wanted to add,  _there isn't another way_ , but she couldn't bring herself to. Inside, she wanted to be wrong.

Theo stepped out of the shadows. He had been strangely quiet, but now it seemed he'd had enough of arguing. "Guys, I don't know what the statistics are for surviving a werewolf bite, but she's definitely not surviving this." He looked between the two boys, trying to signal the need to work together. "We need to do something."

**➵➵➵**

"Success?" Liam hovered over the shoulder of Mrs. McCall as she sanitized a patch of skin on Hayden's forearm.

Mrs. McCall sighed. "Imminent."

"Okay." He didn't seem satisfied, and shifted his focus to the next thing she picked up. "What's that?"

Mrs. McCall had a light syringe in her hand, filled with an almost-clear amber fluid. It looked much friendlier than the one the Dread Doctors had used. "It's called chelation therapy," she explained. "It removes heavy metals from the blood." She pressed the head of the needle up to a visible vein in the crook of Hayden's elbow, pushing down gently on the compressor. "But," she added, "The problem is, that can injure the kidneys and Hayden only has one to begin with, so-"

Hayden's face scrunched up, letting out a small anguished sound. Liam snatched Mrs. McCall's arm, as though that would save the patient. "You're hurting her," he growled.

Mrs. McCall wasn't impressed. "And you're hurting me."

He jumped. "Sorry!"

"Hey," Scott said, watching Liam suspiciously. "Guys, remember, we're here to save a life. Not kill each other."

Theo glanced out at the clear navy sky. "It's the full moon."

Scott nodded. "We can feel it even during the day."

"And it's a Supermoon."

A chill crawled up Sherry's spine. That could either be very good or very bad, but judging by Liam's already short temper so far, she already knew which way it would go.

"What?" asked Mrs. McCall, somewhat absentmindedly. Her gloved fingers felt for Hayden's pulse. "Is that supposed to make you guys, like, super strong? Super aggressive?"

"Both," Scott and Theo responded at once.

**➵➵➵**

The scratchy blue chairs in the waiting area were comfy, sort of, until Sherry tried to stay in one spot for more than a minute and felt her back and legs cramping up. Scott and Theo occupied the other two chairs, Scott hunched forward with his hands clenched by his knees, while Theo expanded outward in every way possible, his legs wide, head erect, and arms falling over the chipped wooden armrests.

"You know we're going to need help with him," Theo said, mostly to Scott.

"He'll be all right."

"He's 16 and in love," he stated. "First love. You remember what that's like?"

Scott swallowed looking away, or maybe conjuring up an image in his mind. "Yeah, trust me," he replied. "I remember."

"All those emotions mixed with the Supermoon," Theo continued. "Tonight isn't going to be good."

"I know."

Sherry grumbled, and wondered where he was going with this. She recalled, finally, why she'd been incensed at Theo. He'd lied, at least once, about Stiles and Donovan, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something in their relationship felt poisonous. Something that had encouraged her to choose the seat farthest from him and that discouraged her from speaking around him.

"We need help," Theo said, "And I don't mean restraints or chains. I mean Malia, Stiles, Lydia. You need your pack, Scott."

Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, she looked up at Scott to gauge his reaction without lifting her head. She hadn't seen him this sunken into himself in a long time.

"I'm not so sure I have one anymore."

Theo stood up, his shadow looming over them. "Let me talk to them," he offered. "Let me see what I can do. Okay?"

He began to walk off, but just before he reached the door, Scott lifted his head slightly and called, "Theo."

The boy turned around slightly, curious.

"Thank you," said Scott.

**➵➵➵**

When her eyes opened again, the skinny hand of the clock had shifted ninety degrees and goosebumps spread in waves across her upper arms and bare legs. The spot to her left was much colder than before, and when she looked around, she realized why. Scott was gone.

Panicked, she leapt up and barreled through the half-door meant to keep out pets. Hayden was still in the back room, still breathing, but something was wrong. Mrs. McCall's expression had visibly tensed, her brows furrowed and her eyes compulsively glancing back to the heart monitor. Sherry spun around. Liam wasn't there either.

"Where'd they go?" she almost demanded, pulse accelerating in her ears.

"Scott received a text from Theo telling him to go to the library," Mrs. McCall replied, somewhat distracted. "And Liam is  _here_."

Blinking, she realized the nurse was right. Liam was crouched in the corner, a grim expression hardening his features.

"Oh!" she said, which shouldn't have been surprising, but given the current state of things, every new occurrence resulted in a spike of her pulse. She couldn't keep still. Her knee jiggled up and down, her hands wrung and tapped, her eyes darted - and Hayden's breaths grew shallower and shallower.

"How's Hayden doing?"

"Not well," Mrs. McCall replied, and Liam immediately shot up, forming a crowd of three around the table. Hayden's eyelids fluttered, but stayed shut, and dark leopard spots discolored the skin of her forearm where Mrs. McCall had lifted her sleeve to give her another shot.

Liam touched the back of his hand to her throat. "It's on her neck too." He glanced up. "She's getting worse, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Nurse McCall said, "Which is why we're taking her to the hospital."

Liam retracted his hand, letting it fall to his side. "How's that going to help?"

"We're in an animal clinic," she explained, impatient, "And I need equipment designed for humans." She stepped back, walking quickly out and returning with a crude gurney meant for animals. She had almost a sly glint in her eye. "I said that we're going to take her to the hospital. I didn't say we're going through the front door."

She wheeled the gurney parallel to the operating table and held it still as Sherry and Liam helped to lower Hayden into it. Then, as Sherry held the doors open, Mrs. McCall pushed the gurney at an almost alarming speed out the door and to her car. Hayden was placed in the backseat, with Liam rushing in after her like before, while Sherry grudgingly accepted shotgun.

As soon as Mrs. McCall slipped the key into ignition, slow, dramatic classical music began to play on the radio. Sherry punched several buttons feverishly until one turned the music off. The thumping, rhythm-less beat of her heart was already too much for her to bear.

The hospital appeared, as serene and gray as always, but they didn't stop in the parking lot. The car veered through the parking garage, around the concrete walls, and toward an area that looked almost like a loading zone, a hollowed prism in the back of the building with a sloped floor, crowded with emergency vehicles and painted rails on every side. The yellow chevron arrows screamed urgency, but Sherry didn't need any reminder.

"Get her ready," Mrs. McCall warned Liam as she slammed on the brakes. She dashed out, retrieving a stray wheelchair to sit Hayden in. Liam moved her accordingly and clenched the handles, wheeling Hayden inside after the nurse.

As they waited impatiently inside the industrial-sized elevator, the button for the fourth floor a bright red, Hayden shifted, whimpering. Wisps of mercury rose in her IV bag, the silver sinister in the clear liquid.

"What's happening?" Liam whispered.

Mrs. McCall pursed her lips. "I'm not sure. But it's definitely not good."

"My sister—" Hayden coughed.

"Scott's out looking for her right now," Mrs. McCall responded reassuringly. "He's going to bring her here as soon as he can, all right?"

The doors slid open, bringing them to a sparsely populated floor. Some doctors and nurses strolled from room to room, but no one gave the group a second glance. Mrs. McCall directed them to an empty room at the end of the hall, the lights inside dim with several yellow bulbs serving as the only sources of illumination. Sherry and Liam lifted Hayden onto the operating table.

"This room is almost never used," Mrs. McCall explained. "We shouldn't be interrupted here."

She pulled a syringe from her kit and tapped the side of the glass. A few bubbles rose to the top of the silvery stuff inside. She pressed the needle to Hayden's arm again, noting, "She's getting worse."

Angrily, Liam pulled out his phone and sent an impatient text to Scott, asking where he was in all caps.

Sherry nudged him. "Don't worry. Scott's doing his best."

That didn't appease him. Snarling, almost in a wolfish demeanor, Liam replied, "Well, his best isn't enough. Hayden is still dying." He kicked a cabinet and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The hinges protested softly in the remaining silence.

"Liam!" Sherry called, too late. She rushed out into the hall, racing to catch up with him, but the elevator doors sealed themselves just as she reached them. "Liam!" She pounded on the doors, jabbing the button for it to reopen. Nothing.

She cursed. Heightened werewolf aggression, the stress of a dying friend—disastrous would be an understatement.

Back in the abandoned surgical room, Mrs. McCall said, "Mason is on his way. Sit tight."

"My sister..." Hayden repeated, her words each so fragile Sherry felt that an accidental breath might whisk them away. "Val..."

She wanted to lay her head on the table, to hold Hayden's hand in her own, to do  _something_ , even if it was as pointless as comfort. She wanted to hug her friend and never let go, let her own warmth be traded away so that Hayden's never went cold. But Hayden was so weak then that Sherry feared any pressure might be a death sentence.

The door flew open, Mason panting and every bit as terrified as the rest of them. His arms were filled with supplies, from extra syringes, formula, and rubbing alcohol, to paper towels and a notepad. "Everything you asked for," he said, pouring everything onto a countertop.

"Just in time," Mrs. McCall responded, and pulled supplies to begging another round of treatment for Hayden.

"We have to go get Liam," Sherry told Mason, voice rising. "He's going to do something he'll regret. He's going to hurt Scott."

"Scott can handle himself," he said, not sounding like he quite believed it himself. "But we have to stay here." His gaze fell on Hayden. "We have to be here for her."

She hugged her arms around herself. He was right.

"Uh oh," aid Mrs. McCall, and her stomach dropped. Silver liquid—mercury—appeared at the corners of Hayden's lips and eyes. "Her heart rate is falling! Watch her pulse, watch her pulse—" She pumped up and down on the girl's chest, trying to restart her heart with every press. The heart monitor emitted a flat, unending beep. Mrs. McCall lifted her hands above her head, checking her watch. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "Time of death—"

"No!" Sherry's nails dug into her palm. "People aren't supposed to just end! They don't just end like that! Her story can't just be cut off; it's not—" And she sounded like she was about to cry, and maybe she was, but she wasn't about to let the universe know that. She wasn't about to admit that the Dread Doctors had won.

"We have to tell Liam," Mason murmured. "We have to let him know."

So she turned toward the door, resigned, empty, and said, "Let's go."

 


	36. Resuscitation

_↣Crashing, hit a wall↢_   
_↣Right now I need a miracle↢_   
_↣Hurry up now, I need a miracle↢_   
_↣Stranded, reaching out↢_   
_↣I call your name but you're not around↢_   
_↣I say your name but you're not around↢_

 

* * *

**Chapter 36** **➵** **Resuscitation**

* * *

 

Sherry hated broken windows. Hated them with a passion. Wherever there was broken glass, there was trouble, and today was no different.

Before they even entered the building, she could already see what was glaringly wrong. The beautiful stained glass window of the school library was thoroughly smashed, spiderwebbing cracks splintering from the center outward.

"Oh, crap," she muttered, and sprinted to the doors. Mason picked up his pace to keep up. Before she even caught sight of the bookshelves, she heard the crashes.

The shelves were all askew. The big tables were defiled, raw rakes exposed from the dark finish. Books littered the floor, pages bent and open at careless angles. In the center of it all, a hunched shape raised poised claws over a figure lying vulnerable on the ground. Crimson scratches marred the victim's face and dripped to the linoleum floor.

"That's what you don't get, Scott," sneered the voice so chilling and rage-filled Sherry almost didn't recognize the person from which it came. "I want to kill you. I want to!"

"Liam!" Mason bellowed, desperation evident. She'd never heard him raise his voice like that, but it still did nothing to shake Liam from his vengeful mode. His glistening claws raked at Scott's bloodied face. "Liam!" Mason yelled again, and Sherry joined in.

"What are you doing?" Sherry pleaded, terrified and furious. The look in his once-peaceful boy's eyes was murderous, devoid of any compassion or mercy.

Slowly, Liam lowered his fist, turning to look at them. "Hayden," he realized.

"She's gone," Mason explained. "Hayden died a few minutes ago." He sighed, breath shaky. "She's gone."

In an instant, Sherry witnessed a boy crushed. His amber eyes faded, his mouth went slack, and every part of his body seemed to droop. Before she knew it, he disappeared, and she almost thought he'd turned to dust and had been blown away by the wind. But his footsteps pounded down the hall, and the front doors slammed, and for the moment, Scott was safe.

Mason descended to Scott, offering an arm to pull him up. "What happened?"

"It's the Supermoon," he replied, painfully. "It was just—"

"Bad timing," interrupted Theo. He stood at the library doors, watching all of them with derisive eyes. Sherry'd never felt so terrified in her life as he strode towards them, looming closer and closer— "I mean, seriously. You couldn't have waited five minutes?" He lashed out, slamming Mason to the floor. Sherry nearly shrieked, hands flying to cover her mouth.

Theo's stare was a threat, but she swallowed and refused to pack down. "Hit me!" she dared, though she probably sounded like a terrified mouse. Tears pricked at her eyes. "Just do it, you lying b—"

He hit her. She went sprawling on the hard floor, the rough rug burning into her elbows as she slid. Her head knocked into a bookshelf, and for a moment she couldn't see, only hear Theo say, "I should've stayed. I should've made sure."

"Because now you have to kill me yourself," Scott replied.

"They're still mine," Theo leveraged. Sherry wanted to scoff. "Maybe not yet, but they'll come around."

"Not for you." Scott's voice grew intense. Softer, but firmer. "They're not like you. They never will be."

"Because I'm a Chimera?" Theo spat, and the news barely clicked in Sherry's mind. Her daze deepened. "Because I'm not a real werewolf?"

"Because you're barely even human."

She could tell that hit a nerve, because just then, Theo roared in pure hatred. As Sherry's vision cleared from the fog, she caught a sight of the two of them just as Theo extracted his claws from Scott's chest, and Scott, in slow motion, sank limply to the ground.

"No," she breathed. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not again. Not after—

She pushed herself to her feet. "Theo!"

He didn't look up from Scott's body.

"Theo!"

He ignored her for another second, then lifted his head in annoyance. "What?"

"Why did you do that?"

"He was a threat." He flicked the blood off his claws, almost casually. "But you? You're more like a bunny. You bounce around, and you're little and cute, but you couldn't do any damage if you tried."

Her blood ran cold. She almost had tunnel vision, everything around her blurring except that evil, foul face. "I will be a threat," she said, summoning all the fury that she had. "I will stop you, and I will kill you, because I killed the werejaguar, and I've survived so far, and I will do whatever it takes, and I will be a threat!"

He was laughing. "Sherry, please." His claws retracted, his facial features smoothing back to normal. "I'll be back. Don't hurt yourself while I'm gone."

"What? It's not like you care."

His eyes glinted. "Because I want to do it myself."

Sherry almost smiled, almost giggled, because this was exactly the type of thing he'd have said when he was fooling with her. But she had to shake herself back into reality. Now was too late for delusions.

As he left, arm bumping into her, she couldn't move. She hated herself for feeling as terrified as she did. Scott had been brave to his last breath, and so had Hayden. Theo was right. She was as much a threat as a stuffed bunny rabbit.

Her feet were cemented to the floor, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Tears pooled in her eyes, but not tears of sadness or anger or betrayal. Tears of frustration. She let them fall, let them dribble down her cheeks and around her nose and off her chin. Tears were weakness, and it was about time she recognized that weakness was all she had.

Her muscles finally began to move. She stumbled out into the hallway, her hands searching for something firm to hold. She found the wall, let her back thud against it, and slid down, trying to wrap her mind around the day.

Hayden was dead-she was crushed, but it had still been a long time coming. She had half been preparing herself for it. But... Scott was dead too, and she couldn't believe it. The one person she thought could never die...

The entire weight of the world came crashing down on her and she whimpered, burying her face into her knees. She couldn't breathe. The atmosphere felt ten degrees colder. Tiny wisps of wind nudged her, as though reminding her. As if she could forget. As if she needed yet another voice to tally up her sins. She shivered uncontrollably. The image of Scott burned in her mind's eye, and the thoughts of Kira somewhere far away, her mother in the hospital room, Hayden dead in Liam's arms, her father's shouts of agony, Parrish in his comatose state, and Liam poisoned by wolfsbane all crowded her mind's eye. She nearly collapsed.

Theo reappeared from around the corner. As soon as he saw Sherry, he stepped forward carefully, almost like he cared, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up to standing. Then he reached behind him, his hand hovering over his back pocket, and brought forth the answer.

A scuffed black handgun, the same one Braeden had given to her to defend herself, the same gun that had saved friendly lives and destroyed enemy ones. The same fund that had been her one advantage in a world full of superpowers. This was the same gun that Sherry'd always had at her disposal, aimed away from herself and ready to fire, and Theo pressed this gun gently into Sherry's shaking hands.

She knew she shouldn't trust him, that something was off. But his grip offered stability and warmth, even as he slowly, slowly turned the barrel around and pressed the tip over Sherry's heart.

He let go and she faltered, fingers unsure how to manage this weapon backwards. The metal was cold on her skin, the same temperature she was. Her hands couldn't keep still, even as she tightened her grip on the trigger.

She stared up at Theo, whose eyes were still green and trustworthy, and she almost felt comforted. His stare was wide, and still glinting, but she didn't notice. All she wanted to do was pretend everything was okay again, so she told him, voice small and vulnerable, "I'm scared, Theo."

"You don't want to ruin anything anymore," he reminded her.

"I know, I know, I know!" She sniffed, bringing her cheek to her shoulder to wipe away tears. "But I'm not brave enough."

He leaned over, his wide eyes at level with hers. "I'll count with you, okay?"

She wanted to move the gun to face him, but instead she kept it immobile over her heart. Her fingers itched to move the gun up to her temple. "Can I make it quicker?"

He shook his head, his fingers soft on her cheek. "You feel guilty." He was soothing, almost like a therapist. "You want more pain. Why do you deserve to live painlessly while your friends have suffered?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, another tear falling down her cheek. "I know."

"Three," Theo said, startling her. His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her. "Two."

Another tear wetted her cheeks, then a whole river.

"One."

Pounding steps rounded the corner. It was the grief-stricken beta Sherry still loved.

"No!" he pleaded, reaching out.

Caught off guard, Sherry's hands dropped. But she'd already pulled the trigger.

She fell forward, knowing already that she'd missed her heart. Her head collided with Theo's chest, but he stepped away from her, his job done. He didn't know he'd failed.

Another pair of arms caught Sherry's fall. Liam.

"No, no, no," he begged, his voice cracking.

Her chest was aflame. Every single part of her screamed but her voice, only because she feared she'd puke if she opened her mouth.

Everything hurt. She couldn't move. The blood rushed, the bullet tore, the edge of her vision darkened and frayed. She shut her eyes, wishing for it to end. But then she remembered the deaths she hadn't stopped and the lives she'd helped to ruin and the weakness that defined her and immediately she relaxed. She was doing this for them. This was her apology... If they had felt the pain, she could bear it too.

Liam was whispering something, but Sherry's hearing came and went in waves. When was the last time they'd touched like this? She almost smiled at the irony. When Liam had been dying, ages and ages ago.

"Please, please don't die," Liam murmured. "Please, Sherry. I can't lose you, too. I love you."

That was all she ever needed to hear. "I love you," she whispered. "I've loved you for ages." And she smiled weakly. The blood pooled in the back of her mouth as her head became lighter, a side effect of blood loss. "I'm not going to die, Liam. You distracted me. I missed."

"I'm going to take you to the hospital," he said.

"Don't!"

He lifted her up anyway. Her stomach lurched and she twisted to the side, coughing blood everywhere. She was thankful she hadn't eaten in a day.

"Remember last May?" Liam asked, his voice weak. "You risked your life for me; I still owe you."

"You don't." The strain of speaking ignited shocks of pain in her chest.

"I do, okay? I still owe you." He sounded as if he were about to cry.

Her vision was cloudy, obscured by a fog of purple spots. She knew she was close to fainting. Liam's lips brushed her forehead, causing a strange sensation. It was like all her pain slowly traveled through her body, her chest, and up to the point of contact with Liam. He'd pulled the pain out of her.

Her eyes flickered closed. "When did you learn that?" she murmured drowsily.

A tear splattered onto Sherry's forehead, yet he didn't answer. And then she knew. She'd predicted it. With a slight, bittersweet smile, she blacked out.

Somewhere else, a bellowing roar shook the building to the foundations.

Scott was alive.

 


End file.
